


Newly Arisen

by Razikale



Category: Dragon's Dogma
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Breast Fucking, Creampie, Dubious Consent, F/F, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Futanari, G!P, Hate Sex, Impregnation, Loss of Virginity, NSFW, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Pregnancy Kink, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, handjob, touchless orgasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23850220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razikale/pseuds/Razikale
Summary: The heroine that dared face a dragon knows her heart has been taken, but she awakes to find that isn't all that has changed. She has been touched by destiny, in more ways than one. In the adventure ahead will be many who might help her bear the burden.***This work is now on hold. Family member in hospital.****
Relationships: Arisen/Quina (Dragon's Dogma), Female Arisen/Aelinore Biquard, Female Arisen/Madeleine, Female Arisen/Mercedes Marten, Female Arisen/Ophis, Female Arisen/Quina
Comments: 49
Kudos: 201





	1. A Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Please review tags! Don't like g!p, don't read!  
> No beta, so if you see errors submit them for correction.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Dragon's Dogma. Besides the disc in my PS4.

**_Oritur vita novit._ **

The weighty, crushing pain that held her whole body paralyzed throbbed. _A new life begins._ A voice in the back of her mind, foreign as lands beyond the sea, whispered to her beneath the heft and club of those brutal, louder tones.

**_Nunc ad vos spectat eligere._ **

_Now it is your turn to choose._ The pain in her limbs was receding, pulling in on itself, drawing into a tight knot in her chest. In the hollow of her ribs. The place where a sickening emptiness threatened to suck her inside out. Instinct curled her into a ball, tucked close to the wall in desperate search of refuge from the typhoon of that roaring voice and the pit that was pulling her down.

**_Tu enim vitae et mortis habes potestatem_ **

The pain in her chest swelled white hot, slithered like blood from a death wound down her body, blossomed horribly in her gut. A dragon’s claw had sunk into her heart and she still couldn’t have imagined pain like this. _You have the power of life and death._

In a gasp the torture was over. So sudden that its absence left her nearly as stunned as the first stabbing pang. She shot upright, head swimming with distant languages and doom _. Just breathe_. Her mother had always taught her – when she’d lost a fight, when the winds were wrong, when the hunt escaped – just breathe. Until she could feel the scratchy bedsheets beneath her. Until she could smell the tallow of late night candles burning in their nooks all around the room. Until the soft, persistent chirp of crickets accompanied moonlight stealing in through the open window and she could finally see that she was safe. For now.

The fire still burned through her veins, tingling along every inch of her skin, but even that was receding in time with her staggered breaths. There was no longer any heartbeat to tell her the passage of time. The scar on her chest growled deep and ominous threats beneath her fingers when she dared to touch the very edge. He threatened her from beyond, and her fury rose in kind. She wasn’t dead but worse: he’d stolen her life. Made himself master of her destiny with the slash of a talon and a taunt. She threw off the bedcovers and got to her feet, even if she was a fisherman’s daughter she would find a way to make that monster pay.

Except when her feet touched floor her body rebelled, suddenly as woozy as the first day at sea. And the fire under her skin hadn’t completely fled, rather nestling in her veins like some counterfeit of her pulse. There were a few other poor friends on the floor, injured in the dragon’s attack. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of how many others had never made it off the beach.

At her feet was Jissen, a fine fisherman with an instinct for the deep sea. He had been talking of taking his young son out with him on the waves. Beside him, she hoped, was the boy. Because if they were here it meant they were alive, they could be treated. If not . . . She staggered out on unsteady feet, needing only distance between herself and thoughts of failure. What had she been thinking with that sword?

Voices and bits of a conversation lured her to the curtained entry of the next room. They were familiar. One was deep, aged and creaking like weathered wood. The other was soft and urgent, pushing ahead like new flowers before the last freeze had thawed. They were arguing in their own delicate way; like the seasons. Steel crept into a voice meant for nothing but kindness and she felt a wave of guilt. She should not be the cause of such arguments.

**_Quod ejus factum sit?_ **

The voice ripped through her bones, nauseated and aching all at once. It dropped her to her knees just at the edge of the next room, the curtain tearing down in her fists.

“Cos? You’re awake!” Quina’s startled cry burst through any other distractions, arriving beside her ear in the same instant as warm hands gently holding her, easing her back to her feet. It was all too easy to lean on her friend, to let that familiar touch fight the creeping fear that kept inching up her spine.

“I’m fine, I -,” the assurance died on her lips as another bolt of pain throbbed in the space where her heart once was. She could feel Adaro’s careful gaze scrutinizing her, watching for any answer as to what had befallen them all.

“Back to bed. Come, Cos!” Quina brooked no argument, partly carrying and mostly dragging her away.

Cos. It was pleasant to hear on Quina’s lips, same as she liked hearing it from her other friends in Cassardis. They called her cos and cousin, because her birth name was one they never quite understood. And her mother, bless her, never bothered to correct them. Because the names the villagers gave her meant friend and family, who would turn that aside? Only her parents—Maker, rest their souls—ever remembered that the name they gave her had meant more than that. It died with them. Cos had been fine for most of her life.

It was easy enough to let herself be guided to cool sheets in an empty room. Particularly when Quina didn’t let go. The gentle brunette followed her down to the bed, laying carefully along one side and watching for even the faintest sign of discomfort. Her fingers drifted tenderly across her patient’s brow, searching for distress.

“I’m fine, Quina. I swear.” The newly anointed Arisen caught Quina’s hand, bringing it down to kiss the knuckles briefly in reassurance. The dragon might have given her a new name, but she would always be the same with this woman.

“I would beg to differ.” Quina didn’t free her hand from the tender touch, but instead brought her other to rest near the raised scar splitting the Arisen’s chest. The warmth of that touch sped heat through her veins once more.

“You’re right,” the Arisen sighed in surrender, looking away from the gaze that threatened to rivet her to the pillows. “But this will not last. I’ll find answers and take back my life.”

“If anyone can,” Quina whispered softly as she leaned closer, “I know it is you.”

This kiss was one of their more tender; none of the youthful, impulsive greed that fueled so many of their lone meetings out on the beach or in empty rooms at Pablo’s Inn. Quina’s mouth was supple and warm, ripe with comfort and promises and the Arisen found herself unable to resist. They had known each other since childhood, known even _more_ when age granted them womanly forms and desires to match. It was with the ease of practice that the Arisen pulled Quina close and rolled them over, electrified by the sensation of that lithe body pinned beneath her own.

“Maker, Cos!” Quina groaned when lips ravished down her throat, finding every weakness that could make her tremble. Her body writhed delectably under the weight of the Arisen, demanding more. Their hips bucked against each other, seeking desperately needed friction, too impatient to bother with barriers of cloth. When she found herself slotted between Quina’s thighs, pressure just right as she rolled forward, the bloom of fiery pleasure that shot from her loins ripped the air from her chest. Quina was moaning as well, long legs enfolding her at the waist to pull tight and drag them together in that same movement again.

“Oh, fu-Mak-Quina,” the Arisen gasped, shaken. There was such heat between her thighs, not just wet and melting as all the other times they’d coupled in the secrecy of night. Now it was aching and heavy, as hot as a newly forged weapon and the muscles of her entire body felt both energized and leaden – beholden only to that next burst of pleasure as she thrust herself against Quina.

It was the sheer weight of the throb between her legs that pierced the Arisen’s senses, foreign and frightening and she violently shoved herself back. A sharp, startled note from Quina protested the sudden interruption, but went instantly silent when she saw why. The Arisen had scrabbled back to the far end of the bed, pressed close to the wall as though to flee but there was no escape. Not from herself. If that was truly what this was.

“I’m sorry, Cos, I should have warned you.” Quina carefully rose up and slid closer, each movement slow and cautious as if dealing with a wounded animal.

“Y-you,” she stammered, staring transfixed at the swell hidden beneath tatty trousers. Even with her eyes screwed shut she could feel it, knew it was there. “You knew?!”

Quina nodded, easing herself to sit beside the Arisen. “I had to change your clothes, search for wounds. There was so much blood . . .”

Her voice momentarily went far away, eyes in the distance as she blinked rapidly to push back the emotions threatening to spill. With a ragged breath her voice and gaze calmed once more, “Thank the Maker, I found nothing. Just the scar over your heart and _this._ ”

Her fingertips barely graced the edge of fabric that was straining over the bulge, and the Arisen bit her lip to keep from making a sound. How could anything so large be so sensitive? What foolishness gripped the Maker when he made this design? And why was it so hard to think about anything other than the warm hand now resting just a hair’s breadth away from touching her again?

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand _any_ of this!” The Arisen managed to grind out words. Her whole body was trembling, feverish, chilled with shock but burning with frustrated need.

“Neither do I, Cos. But where there are mysteries there are clues. We only must find them.” Quina’s reassurances softly murmured against her ear, warmed her cheek and sent another thrill of ice down her spine.

“We?” The Arisen couldn’t help a tiny puff of doubtful laughter as she echoed the word. She was finally able to rip her eyes away from the new and foreign part of herself, searching Quina’s face as if the clues might begin there. Perhaps they did. There was something in the way those grey-green eyes flickered low, staring at the new “mystery” with something like excitement.

“Yes, we. I want to help you,” Quina reaffirmed, stealing a glance back at the Arisen and biting her lip in a moment of uncertainty. “Any way that I can.”

In the determination of that promise her hand deliberately slid over the swell of the Arisen’s pants, stroking the outline. Some weak attempt at protest began to form on her lips, but as though she could hear the words coming, Quina leaned in and caught her in a kiss. It was an argument she’d already lost, surrender complete in a moan at the flick of her lover’s tongue. The hand stroking her length gave a testing squeeze, bringing a second and louder moan between their lips. Then those artful fingers slipped under the worn cloth waistline, touched her directly skin-to-skin.

“Sweet Maker!” The Arisen’s head snapped back, cracking the aged plaster of the wall.

“If I am to help you solve this mystery,” Quina’s voice was teasing, light and playful like with so many of their other games, “We must see what we are dealing with, hmm?”

With that scant warning she tugged loose breeches down, freeing the full swell to stand and throb in the cool night air. For a moment, all either of them could do was stare. They’d seen such before, of course. In a fishing village it was nothing untoward to see young boys bathing in the waves, or grown fishermen sprawled naked on the beach after too many ales. But those were not the same. They weren’t long and hard as a mast, jutting up lewd and proudly defiant of the feminine hips below. Those weren’t straining towards Quina’s touch, adorned with a single droplet of arousal at the very tip, hinting at so much more.

“I-is, oh— _damn_ ,” the Arisen let a curse slip free when warm fingers wrapped completely around her length, so much better than before. Her eyes winced shut, momentarily tight as her jaw while she fought to form words, “The rest of me, Quina, is it the same?”

“Yes, Cos. You are still fully a woman.” Quina’s lips curled with a knowing smile, as if she’d expected the question. “I checked before, to see if anything else had changed.”

To emphasize her point she trailed her hand down, a familiar touch slipping inside the Arisen’s thighs to tease her sex before coming back up. She could immediately see that Quina’s fingers were now glistening damp as she went back to stroking the shaft.

“Glad you’re so thorough.” The Arisen managed to joke back, between stifled groans and the puffs of air she could barely manage.

Quina’s light, feathery caresses were intensifying, experimenting with grip and speed to find the rhythm that made the most perfect sounds break free. The Arisen fisted the bed sheets, pushing herself further back into the wall as her hips involuntarily bucked and thrust to match time. In the back of her mind was a muted warning, a voice reminding her that others were sleeping nearby, healing, near death and in despair. Somehow, all that pain only made her need for this pleasure more urgent, dragged her even faster towards a moment that would make everything else disappear.

“You’re close, I can tell.” Quina’s whisper in her ear was nearly obscene, punctuated with teeth and a breathy laugh. She kissed along the Arisen’s cheek, catching her lips for another long, hungry trade of wants.

Untangling one hand from the scratchy bedcovers she caught hold of thick mahogany curls, grounding herself in the familiar feel and smell and taste of a lover she’d bedded countless times these past years. The heat building in her gut was the same as then, the molten fires ready to burn free. The slippery dart of Quina’s tongue, the way she moaned when the fist in her hair tightened, how those luxurious lips mouthed her name even into their kiss.

“Qui—!” A guttural cry burst free, like being knocked down but yanked forward at the same time. She bucked, muscles torn between curling inward and tearing loose as she felt the swell of arousal rush the length of her shaft and spill riotously over Quina’s still pumping hand. Each squeeze of her fingers pulled another shuddering thrust from the Arisen, another spurt of milky, white fluid that soiled their skin and the sheets beneath.

Finally, when naught but dribbles answered her touch, Quina released her. The Arisen tilted her head back, sagged boneless against the wall to gasp for air in a room that felt all at once too hot but chilling.

“Fascinating.” Quina’s curious murmur lured her into slitting one eye open, watching as the other woman examined the spent release coating her fingers, trickling slowly down her wrist.

She studied it as if a new specimen of bloom for her medicines, so intent on unlocking its meaning. She must have felt the Arisen’s eyes on her, meeting the gaze with a quirk of one brow before delicately bringing her hand to her mouth and darting her tongue out for a taste. The Arisen nearly choked in shock, a plume of heat surging back up like a gut blow.

“You taste the same.” Quina explained quietly, the faintest hint of color tingeing her cheeks. The relief in her voice was the only tell, a confession of vulnerability, the doubt she’d kept hidden. It stripped bare the healer’s façade and left only the intimacies they two had shared so many times before.

“Let’s see.” The Arisen traced a finger along Quina’s jaw, luring her in for a kiss. She knew herself on a lover’s tongue, just as she recognized the scent from their spent sheets. Exploring the depths of Quina’s mouth she found only what she knew, still the same. It might have been either or both of them that sighed contentedly between their lips.

With the familiar taste filling her mouth, the Arisen became more aware of another fragrance in the room: a scent besides her own mimicking the sea breeze that wafted through the windows. Questing fingers easily slid down Quina’s shapely waist and hip, trailing until she found the hem of her dress and could follow it up inside to graze a thigh that immediately jumped. A light touch traced higher, teasing small shudders and excited breaths into their kiss, until she found the desperate heat that graced her fingertips with lust the moment she dipped in.

“Maker, Quina, how long have you been suffering?” The Arisen wondered in surprise. She could feel not only the warmth that trickled so readily into her hand, but also its clinging residue coating skin. Had she been wearing small clothes, the fabric would have been soaked.

“I had quite some time to ponder your situation.” Quina’s words stuttered and collided atop soft laughter. “I confess my imagination got carried away.”

“Oh? Anything in particular?” She loved that no one else knew this part of the sweet healer. No one would dare suspect gentle, quiet Quina’s deep understanding of desire, nor how easily she embraced its nature. No one knew the way those luminous eyes fluttered shut with such innocent pleasure when she moved her fingers just . . . _so._

“Mmm, yes.” Quina hummed happily between small kisses. “Something very special.”

That enigmatic reply matched her smile as she suddenly shifted away and rose off the bed, ignoring a whine of protest. It was difficult to think clearly, between the greedy pulses of lust still throbbing in her gut and the tease of her lover’s scent winding into her every breath. It felt as if half her mind or more had taken up residence strictly between her legs. 

Even so, when Quina began to unwrap the blue sash from her waist, it took only a moment to understand. The Arisen quickly got to her own feet, kicking out of the ill-used trousers and pulling her tunic overhead. The scratchy fabric dropped to the ground in a lump, followed by Quina’s sash gracefully unfurling to the floor. Then, with just a tug of the string around her neck, her simple white shift also pooled at their feet.

All the people of Cassardis had sun-kissed skin, but Quina’s felt like it might glow beneath the Arisen’s grasp as she pulled her close. Hands replied in kind, trailing up her arms, over her shoulders, palming the swell of her breasts to a duet of pleased sighs—then Quina stopped short. One hand hovered just beyond the jagged scar that had cleaved flesh and bone, and there was emotion welling in her eyes once more.

“Oh, Cos.” Her whisper held all the fragile echoes of the day. The shouted warnings, screams of terror, curses and prayers rising to the sky in equal fervor before a sound like thunder brought silence to the whole world.

**_Now choose. Flee, or step forth . . ._ **

The voice still reverberated in her bones, shattering commands shaping a destiny she’d never wanted. Changing any future she’d thought she had.

**_Take hold of what lies beyond._ **

Cursing the words in her head she took hold of Quina’s face in both hands, kissing her with the raw, fierce urgency that had dragged her onto that beach in the first place. Only when there was no air left for even a gasp between them did she let go, both staying close, pressed together until their bodies molded nearly into one. Foreheads resting against one another, the Arisen took Quina’s hand and guided it back to that ugly mark.

“I’m alright, Quina. I’m alive.” The words gritted out like rock, determined to make every one carve through the scar etched on her flesh. She pressed their hands together onto the twisted skin, fought to hold them there even as the dragon roared.

**_Forge in my fire the next link. . . To me . . .Come to me. . ._ **

Only she could hear the voice, yet Quina held tightly onto her as she quavered through its storm. And she was still there holding her when all that was left was the sound of their shared, ragged breath. Eyes the color of seafoam in the sun found hers, silently asking questions neither of them really knew.

“I’m with you.” Quina whispered the only answer either of them needed.

She peeled their joined hands off the scar, noting the angry red marks where nails had dug deep to hang on. The naked brunette guided them both back to the bed, sliding down onto the sheets in invitation and tugging at the Arisen’s arm,

“Come to me, Cos.” She lay back, gaze full of nothing but calm and trust; no idea at all how her sultry words echoed a rasping, vile command. The Arisen liked it far better in her voice. She was already moving to obey without a thought, carefully lowering herself to rest just above that beautiful body offered so willingly. Legs parted eagerly, welcoming her to fit perfectly between the heat of her thighs and—Maker above—she could feel the warmth waiting for her, just brushing her tip.

“Quina, we don’t know . . .” Words failed her because there were too many. It might be a test, might be dangerous. They didn’t even know what they were doing, dammit! Neither of them had even _been_ with a man, let alone put in the position of one.

“I know you.” Quina swiftly cut off the spiraling thoughts of her protest. She hooked one knee over the Arisen’s hip, a gentle but firm demand urging her closer. “I know that I want this.”

Doubts and questions still held her back, paralyzed between want and fear. She barely felt the impatient hands that took hold of her shoulders. In a move of surprising strength and agility Quina rolled them over, now pinning her to the sheets beneath the weight of warm skin and supple curves.

Graceful thighs straddled the Arisen’s hips, Quina straightening up to allow a full view of her victorious position. Without breaking their gaze, she took hold that aching length once more, confident as she guided it to her entrance. Just the tip parted her waiting folds and the whole world held its breath.

“With you, Cos.” Quina’s lust-darkened eyes cleared enough for the emotion to shine through. Her free hand found the Arisen’s, weaving their fingers tightly together. “I want this with you.”

Then there was no dragon, no voices, no thoughts. Only the slick heat slowly pressing down around her, pulling at her, enveloping her inch by inch. She forced her eyes to stay open, to watch the way her new body slowly plunged deeper and deeper, to see Quina’s kiss-bruised lips parting at the sensation of taking her in. Tight silken muscles rippled and shuddered on all sides, stretching to make room, letting her sink into places her fingers had never reached. Only when she felt solid weight resting on her hips did she let out the breath she’d been holding behind clenched teeth, a shaky sigh from above her giving echo.

She wanted desperately to say something; praise, comfort, confessions and promises, but the only language near her tongue was wondered blasphemy. Quina hated it when she cursed so she held back, bit into her own lip until she tasted blood to staunch the flow of words. The weight in her lap shifted, rocked experimentally, side-to-side and then back-and-forth, exploring the fullness, the pressure between their joined bodies. A deliberate roll made the low throbbing in her gut give a hard pulse and she grabbed Quina’s hips in both hands, gripping tight when her own muscles clenched and thrust back in response.

“ _Oh._ ” Quina’s lips parted, a small sound of revelation. She leaned forward, bracing one hand on the taught muscles of the Arisen’s stomach. This time, when she rose and fell, it was to a perfect duet of gasps.

Like a key twisting inside a lock, the movement fell into place and there was nothing to do but chase each rising spark as they found the rhythm that pushed faster and closer. Her fingers were going to leave bruises where they dug into the flesh of shapely hips, just as the sharp sensation on her belly promised Quina’s nails were leaving her own mark. The Arisen could see her length piercing swollen folds over and over, each time glistening anew with more and more excitement, hers and Quina’s mixing together, painting skin, running down to the sheets below.

The pressure in her core was becoming unbearable, like a skin near to bursting. But Quina’s panted moans were still building, long and luxurious with each stroke of the shaft spreading her. Prying a hand free, the Arisen tugged on her lover’s arm and pulled her down. Close, this close, she could feel every tremor and gasp that brought Quina nearer to that perfect moment. The full swell of heavier breasts weighed her down into the mattress, shallow breaths matching her own.

“F-feels good—.” The Arisen managed to force words free between the visceral bursts of sound that wound up beyond clenched teeth. “Quina, _so damn_ good.” 

She couldn’t even feel guilty about the curse, not when lips caught the tender part of her ear and a voice just as tortured moaned back helpless words,

“So do you,” Quina echoed her confession. “Don’t stop, oh, Cos, please.”

Desperate pleas continued to pant against the Arisen’s skin, a prayer she could never contain or ignore. One shaky hand fumbled between the sweat-slick press of their bodies, finding her aim with the familiarity of so many nights – though none like this. Quina’s sharp, instant whine of pleasure zeroed her to that tiny bud, the one that made the muscles of her sex shudder and clench in delight. Hands wound into her hair, not even pretending to hold herself up anymore, just riding the thrashing waves as the Arisen thrust into her faster and harder, matching time with her fingers swirling over that aching bundle of nerves.

“Oh Maker, Cos, _Cos—!_ ” Quina’s outburst was stifled in their kiss, spine bowing deep as her muscles shuddered through the riot of her release. Every part of the silky heat enveloping the Arisen quaked, rippling and bearing down until the pressure inside her had no choice but to burst free, each tortured grunt and spasm painting Quina’s depths.

They sagged back into the sheets, the Arisen not even aware how they had surged up off the mattress until she felt it rough against her back once more. Her lips were raw in their kiss, bruised from the need to smother cries and keep secrets. But Quina was warm and soft in her arms, a welcome weight bringing her back into herself as the last waves of climax softly rolled away. The stubborn heft between her legs had finally lightened, easing back until she scarce noticed it resting against her thigh.

A mane of dark brown curls veiled the world from view, but gradually Quina stirred and with a subtle nudge invited them both to roll to one side. There they could lay close, wrapped together in the comfort of the familiar before facing all that was new. Fingers painted feathery designs up her arm, over her shoulder and neck before gliding back down again; a touch as soothing as it was playful. Her own hands were content with the feel of supple curves, the fullness of a fleshy cheek filling one palm, the other tangled in wavy, mahogany hair.

“You thought you were popular with women before,” Quina teased, stretching languorously as a sated cat. “I daresay when rumor of this spreads you will be in even higher demand.”

“Quina!” The Arisen objected, stung and fighting the blush rising up her face. “I’m not some toy to be passed around.”

“Of course not, Cos.” She made amends with a small kiss to her colored cheek. “But you do have a way of finding company. There’s been Benita’s daughter, that blonde trader that began visiting a year ago, not to mention Heraldo’s lovely new wife from overseas—.”

“That was a secret!” The Arisen interrupted, ears already tuned to the distance for any trace of eavesdroppers. How was it even possible they were having this conversation now?

“And I swear I’ve ne’er told a soul.” Quina solemnly held a hushing finger against her lips. “I only meant that you’ve always had a charm with women.”

“Women of a certain persuasion.” It was a subtle correction, but important nonetheless. It wasn’t like she’d bed any woman willing to raise her skirt, but it was true she had never struggled to find their kind. These past years, with their many intimacies, she’d only wanted Quina to understand she wasn’t simply a notch in the bedpost. No woman was.

“Alright,” Quina conceded the point with merely a roll of her eyes. “And now you possess a gift that will no doubt _‘persuade’_ many more women to your bed.”

A chuckle in her voice matched the tease of her touch as she stroked the (mercifully calm) flesh between the Arisen’s thighs. Such ease had always been her nature, from the very first time they fumbled their way under each other’s clothing. She delighted in the pleasures they found together, but never held a single demand. It had been one of the most constant puzzles of their friendship. The edge of which felt, at this precarious moment, almost within reach.

“Quina,” the Arisen paused, feeling the other woman subtly burrowing lower in their embrace to rest against her collar. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because you have to go fight a dragon that stole your heart.” The other woman’s voice sounded faint now, muffled against her skin but also far away. “You go out to face life and death, Cos.”

**_Tu enim vitae et mortis habes potestatem_**

The Arisen squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face in hair to block out that voice with deep breaths of loneflower and grandblossom. It was distant, but she could still hear Quina’s words continuing,

“I want you to live.” Hands clenched just a little tighter onto her shoulders then, tried to pull even deeper into the safety of their embrace. “You have to choose life, Cos, chase it, cling to it. Don’t let death overtake you.”

“And you think finding bedmates is going to improve my chances?” The Arisen laughed, more tired and hollow than she could ever remember feeling. An impossible battle lay ahead. The most she could pray was that nothing between now and her death would ruin this memory.

“Yes.” Quina’s certainty was iron, tilting her head back to meet her gaze with the faith of ancients. “Because you do not love lightly. Where you find love, you will find reason to live.”

“Quina, I—,” the objection was silenced as soon as it began, that stubborn finger back silencing her mouth.

“I love you too.” A tender smile graced her lips then, softening the whole of her face with years of carefully banked devotions. “But love cannot take from anyone, it only gives. I trust you, Cos. If, by the Maker’s Grace, your journey leads you to others who will share their hearts, then they are giving you more chance to live.”

The sticky emotions clogging her throat made it impossible to shape words. Fear mingled with sadness, gratitude swelled with hope. More than anything was promise. The promise that she wouldn’t fail, wouldn’t let Quina down, wouldn’t abandon her or the rest of the world now weighing on her shoulders. As if she could read each silent vow in the small lines creasing her brow, Quina reached up and erased them all with a brush of her lips.

“Rest, Cos. The world can wait for you til dawn.” She settled back into the Arisen’s arms, breath already evening into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep.

Without shifting Quina, she carefully slid one hand between them, grazing the edge of that angry scar once more.

**_Quod ejus factum sit?_ **

_What will you choose?_ Doubts and questions trickled away from her thoughts like pebbles in a landslide. Quina hummed contentedly in her sleep, tucked close enough that the Arisen could feel her heart beating. There was no echo from her own empty chest, but she could feel something else in that void. Something new. A sense of strength swelled beneath her ribs, grew more resolute with every breath until it spread through her whole body, pulsing with a will of its own. _Guess what, bastard? I choose life._


	2. Arise to Power

**Arise to Power**

It didn’t take long to reach the Encampment from Cassardis. It wasn’t even a full day’s travel along some very scenic coast. So why, in the Maker’s Bones, did it take her more than a bloody week?!

Oh, she’d made it there within the first day of leaving the village easily enough. But almost as soon as she set foot inside the massive wooden gates there were demands dragging her back. Reports of saurians, bandits, goblins, even missing villagers— _damn you, Valmiro_ —that constantly pulled her away from her own journey.

Under different circumstances she might have had more patience for the delectable blonde giggling so coyly in front of her. Madeleine was well practiced in the arts of flirtation, and experienced at earning coin for nothing more than a wink and a promise. But this was now the _fifth_ time the Arisen had crossed these gates and not once had she been able to pause and gather her wits before the next helpless petition or challenge of duty fell at her feet.

“You must let me repay your generosity in kind!” Madeleine’s fingers played with the strap of her chest guard, pouting mercilessly. “I may not have coin, but surely there is some other favor you’d like as reward?”

“Just stay out of trouble!” The Arisen barely recognized the brusque chafe of her own voice, tired of sweat and goblin stink and the feel of blisters turning to callous on her palms.

Also tired of the way Madeleine’s voice kept plucking at the pulse in her loins, each sing-song tease nearly a physical touch, drawing more pressure into the throb that she only barely kept at bay. Thank the Maker that Aestella had seen fit to give her a discount, letting her little coin purchase both leathers _and_ greaves. Tight and hard enough to keep any wandering thoughts from being put on display.

“Oh, you _are_ a darling.” Not even slightly fazed by the rebuff, Madeleine gave her a lavish kiss on the cheek before skipping away. No doubt to find a treasure trove beneath some sleeping wyvern, or a vein of silver that ran into a hobgoblin nest. Maker save anyone that got between that woman and coin.

“She seemed quite eager to enjoy your company, Arisen.” The dulcet, mostly neutral tone of voice at her side was showing the cracks of restrained laughter.

“Shut up, Rhia.” The Arisen stalked away, hoping perhaps a bit of rest might grant her mind—or at least her body—some ease.

“You two have some history, do you not? She was most familiar in speaking with you.” Rhiannon kept pace with her, that calm tone still skirting an edge of something far more amused.

Queen. Or so the name meant in her mother’s old tongue. It had seemed so appropriate when the pawn appeared and asked what her master wished her to be called. If they were nothing but players in a grand game, why shouldn’t the unfortunate servant bound to her be granted some prestige? Now, however, the Arisen was beginning to regret the choice because every time that name shaped on her tongue she thought of her mother. And when she thought of her mother she couldn’t lash out with the full force of curses and blasphemy that frustration had boiling her insides.

Five days they’d sojourned together thus far. In that short time she’d already developed a distinct feeling that, no matter if pawns claimed no emotion or thought of their own, the woman was often smiling in a way that couldn’t be seen. But her magic was a persuasive force, and the warm reassurance of her voice was something the Arisen had found herself beginning to depend upon. Now, if only she could teach her not to blurt out every obvious, awkward moment.

“Madeleine makes _familiarity_ her trade. Give her a week in Gran Soren and I guarantee she’ll be on intimate terms with most of the Duke’s men, as well as the coin in their purses.” The irritation beneath her ribs didn’t have the sting of jealousy. But there was a bite nonetheless; more a rebuke, an accusation of opportunity missed. The heavy stirring beneath her loin guard made it all the more plain.

It had been a week since she and Quina lay together in crumpled sheets. She’d certainly gone longer without company to warm her nights, but seldom by choice. The dragon’s maddening affliction just made it worse. Madeline made it nearly unbearable.

“Then I doubt we’ve seen the last of her.” Rhiannon shrugged one shoulder, as if sloughing off a burden for someone else to bear. No matter what they were talking about, she always seemed to know more than what was said. Perhaps she also knew more about things unmentioned . . .

They’d near arrived at the rest tent when the Arisen grabbed her pawn’s arm, pulling her to one side. Glancing swiftly to be sure they weren’t seen, she leaned in close.

“Your kind have served the Arisens since the beginning, yes?” She kept her voice low, hoping it would encourage the pawn to reply in kind.

“Since there has been a call to defy the dragons, there has been an army rising from the rift to serve in aid.” Rhiannon’s furrowed brow showed her confusion at the shift in topic, but still eager as ever to be helpful.

“Then you must know—or have heard of—some kind of change that happens to them? The way the Arisen is altered?” It was difficult to keep the urgency out of her voice, the hope that bled towards desperation.

“Your heart is hostage.” Rhiannon pressed a hand to her armor, over the space of her scar. “Only a warrior’s valiant will can slay the dragon and reclaim what was taken. You earn your heart by proving its worth.”

“Nothing else? Nothing other than hearts?” The Arisen prodded, searching the pawn’s face. But it was useless. Those fathomless eyes had seen the beginning and end of times, how could she hope to find just this moment?

“I’m sorry, Arisen.” Rhiannon’s eyes fell away, pained by failure. Such early days, and already they had come to understand each other’s unspoken language.

“It’s fine. Go rest, I’ll be along shortly.” She dismissed the pawn with a heartening squeeze of her arm, ashamed to have caused guilt over a problem that was solely her own.

Rhiannon vanished into the rest tent while she paced a little ways outside, one hand carding through the tangles of her hair to find some answer in chaotic thoughts.

“I have heard talk of the Arisen.” The foreign accent was all at once sharp but curling, rolling in and over on itself like breakers on the shore. “They say you hold dominion over the pawns.”

It was hardly difficult to spot the origin of such a voice. She stood proud and regal, dressed in the finery of knighthood interwoven with royalty. Ebony hair cut short, testimony to a practical mind that prevailed over vanity. She was a remarkable vision, all shining armor and white cloaking, like the saints and saviors from stories of old.

“You have me at a disadvantage, ser.” She bowed on instinct, knowing the pride before her would accept no less. Only her eyes refused to tear away.

“I am Mercedes.” The knight tilted back ever so slightly in acknowledgment, the faintest trace of satisfaction playing at the edge of her lips. “I lead the men of the enlistment corps.”

 _And how happily they must follow._ The Arisen kept her thought in check. Any woman commanding an army of men walked the frontline of a terrible battle every day. Plus, she looked like she knew exactly how to use that rapier at her side. Much safer to simply keep silent and nod agreeably as the beautiful foreigner spoke of pawns and the rift,

“. . . I cannot call them into this world as you do, though. Nor make traveling companions of them.” Mercedes’ curious eyes raked over her from head to foot. Such intense scrutiny felt like being stripped bare; vulnerable but thrilling. “What manner of magic lets you command them so?”

“That, Good Knight, is one of the many mysteries I hope to solve before this nightmare has ended.” _And some more pressing than others._ Small but persistent sparks were setting her nerves alight, skin coming alive just from the sensation of Mercedes’ gaze roving her armor, taking her apart piece by piece.

“Well, it matters not.” Those steel-grey eyes swept back to her face, content with some secret conclusion. She moved to walk past the Arisen, pausing only when their shoulders nearly touched. “Make use of the encampment as you please. Are you in need of rest?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t even think to lie, not with the other woman so close that she could smell the polish of her breastplate and exotically fragranced fur. The barest change of color in Mercedes’ eyes finally jogged her wits to work once more and she rushed on, “But I don’t know if I can. All these strange events have made sleep feel very distant.”

Her expression changed again and the Arisen could not find why it should be so familiar, the sharpness and glint that flickered so briefly before vanishing behind shields.

“’Tis a common thing amongst new soldiers. Even after victory you still hunt for battle.” Rather than judgment, there was warmth in Mercedes’ tone: _approval_. “Mind, the legends of my homeland tell that the Arisen is uniquely equipped for such things.”

“What sort of legends?” She shifted away, nervous of being betrayed by the sudden change in her breath. Could there be clues after all?

“Old wives’ tales for the most part, and the sort of rumors that have fed gossip and grudges for centuries. You need not be bothered with nonsense.” Mercedes dismissed it all with a single wave, the swipe of a blade that severed ideas. She was already moving on, a step away from being gone and instantly a twist in the Arisen’s belly screamed not to let her go.

“Do you drink?” Her question shot out, an arrow that desperately needed to land true.

“Pardon?” Mercedes turned slightly, the cock of one aristocratic eyebrow keeping her in place but also daring her on.

“Only, at a bandit camp I found some rather fine cloudwine.” She pulled the bottle from her pack, dusty from the road and speckled with an unfortunate thief’s blood. “Perhaps you could join me? And tell me some of this nonsense you’ve heard?”

That taut line of a soldier’s posture stayed defensive, wary of unknown attack. Then, like storm clouds blowing back to sea, an ease crept over Mercedes. Even—dare she think it?—the beginnings of a smile. Her stance softened imperceptibly, coming off guard and leaving the weight of the world to others.

“I suppose there could be no harm.” With nary more than a sly curl at one corner of her lips, Mercedes nodded the Arisen to follow her to the private command tent.

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

The people of Cassardis were a practical lot. Nothing had to be fancy, there only had to be enough. And ‘enough’ to fishermen meant strong ale for most, bad whiskey for some, and weak wine for those that couldn’t stomach either. The Arisen had never tasted any wine besides the watery sort Pablo offered his guests, tasting more of sea brine than grapevine. Her first sip of cloudwine was altogether different. The sticky velvet coated her mouth, tendrils of rich warmth creeping down to her belly and into her mind at equal speed.

“Do you care for it?” Mercedes settled with her own goblet into a spartan chair near the command table. Her gloves lay tossed aside, long and tapered fingers easily cradling the cup like a due. The wine left a trace of dark berry color on her lips, savored with a sigh.

 _This is going to be trouble._ A latent instinct for danger—growing sharper by the day—made her tongue feel like lead. The headiness of the wine no doubt. Or the way a crudely lashed seat of birch and canvas became a throne with Mercedes lounging in its frame.

“I’ve never had its like.” At least that she could answer with all honesty. Another drink and whatever had stuck her tongue within her mouth began to loosen. “But it must be quite ordinary for you.”

“Why is that?” Mercedes was too much a soldier, too careful in command to give herself away by leaning forward; but a dash of intrigue played across her face, watching the next answer with even more care. Sensitive about her station? Or concerned with keeping it a secret?

“I daresay I could search all of my homeland and yours, but never find your like,” the Arisen explained easily, pacing the tent to a safe distance before glancing over her shoulder. She couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing the other woman’s eyes tracking her every step, waiting on her answer, “Except amongst royalty.”

“Impressive.” A single word rolled satisfaction along the very edge of praise in that measured voice. She took another drink of her wine, mulling it like thoughts as she studied the distance before choosing to resume, “I am youngest born of Grende Hearthstone, and only daughter.”

“That can’t be easy.” The Arisen settled into another chair, shaking her head in sympathy.

She knew nothing of royalty, and had no family to call her own; but the frigid calm of Mercedes’ voice bespoke a history she knew all too well. Too often she had seen parents and brothers dismiss their daughters like some fragile keepsake, burdens to be protected from harm until a buyer offered the right price.

“We each play our role in the eternal ring.” Mercedes shrugged, rising to refill her cup. She leaned against the command table, raising a toast to the Arisen with naught but a wry smile, “You know something of that now, don’t you?”

“I’m learning.” The Arisen frowned. That phrase: _eternal ring_ , she’d heard it somewhere before. It had resonance, like words that had been repeated through endless times. Dark shadows crept up from the corners of her mind, hissing ominous prophecies, and the warmth of the wine in her belly wasn’t quite enough to keep them at bay,

“Speaking of learning.” She rose from her chair abruptly, seeking relief from the crowded feeling of her own thoughts. “You were going to tell me about the legends from your homeland?”

“Prattle and gossip, the most of it,” Mercedes repeated her earlier verdict with a scoff. Still, she twisted her chalice of wine thoughtfully, “’Twould be heartening to believe they were true. The tales in Hearthstone speak of Arisens that could slay a brace of ogres singlehanded. That they clung to the feathers of a griffon for half the breadth of a kingdom before felling it to ground. Even the spells of dragonkin are said to have no hold on such heroes.”

Only silence could be applause for such a litany of heroism. It weighed oppressive on the Arisen’s shoulders as she grabbed the bottle of wine to refill her cup. Even when her lazed senses were already screaming it was a mistake, she craved to inch closer to the cozy oblivion in each sip.

“I can beat up a lot of bandits and scare the shit out of goblins when I catch them by surprise.” She downed that pour in a single gulp, filled it again in triumph because she was still standing. Well, leaning anyway; against the command table. A few scant inches away from the other woman.

The touch of the wine was at her mouth when something even more intoxicating caught her attention. Low and rich, yet quick as a petal dancing ahead on the breeze: Mercedes was laughing. There was an ease to it, calm and inevitable as nature itself, a sound that hadn’t existed a moment ago but wound into the air as if it has always been. Thank the Maker the goblet in her hand was metal, or the spasm of her fingers might have shattered glass.

“We both know too much of grandiose expectations, I think.” Mercedes’ smile was the first genuine expression she’d seen, none of the swords or shields of this sparring match they’d played. But where there was no battle, she had no strategy and no defense. She was completely off guard for the hum rising in her blood as that soft voice continued, “What we were or will be does not matter. The dragon’s coming forces us to be what we are, no more and no less.”

“Easy for you to say, he didn’t take your heart.” The Arisen shot back with a scoff she barely strangled, realizing too late the words had made it past her lips. Damn the wine!

“Oh, it could’ve been worse!” Mercedes laughed again, fuller than before. “The stories of the Dragon’s Boon might have been true.”

“Boon?” The Arisen repeated, a thread of suspicion stabbing icy wakefulness through her comfortable haze.

“I did tell you there was many an old wives’ tale, did I not? That is their favorite.” Mercedes must have noticed the sudden shift in her expression, eyeing her curiously.

“What is it?” For all her efforts at sounding casual, there was no denying a crack at the edges of her question.

A contemplative hum was Mercedes’ only answer at first, then after another drink she turned to lean in closer as if to confide secrets.

“Gossipy old women and bored spinsters love to indulge in rumors of the Arisen’s vitality,” she elaborated, voice a low murmur that forced an even closer intimacy. “’Twas said that a true dragonslayer brings life to the world not just in salvation, but new birth.”

“Like some kind of fertility charm?” Half her concentration was focused on following this thread of thought, the rest desperately trying to control her waking body. As if somehow _knowing_ the drift of conversation, her length had begun to stir. She’d nearly forgotten about it for a few blissfully distracted minutes. Now there was a vengeance in the heat creeping through her veins.

“Hardly so innocent.” Mercedes’ chuckle was a staccato breath on her cheek, scented with mulberry and oak. “They have no heart to live for themselves, but they have life abundant within them. Just waiting to be _seeded_.”

“Oh shit.” She wiped a nervous hand over her face, all at once acutely aware not only of the tightness under her leathers but everything it contained.

It was just a rumor, gossip; old bored women inventing stories to titillate each other. Except there was little else that offered any other explanation, was there? It wasn’t like dragons delighted in extra appendages just to make wardrobe choices harder. _Don’t think harder._ She grimaced and spun to face the command table, gripping the edge until her knuckles went white.

“Are you alr—?” Mercedes’ concern was abruptly cut off by realization. She recognized that suddenly flushed face, the anguished brow, the guarded posture turned so desperately inward as if to protect secrets. The dark haired knight set her wine down hard, droplets sloshing over the rim,

“ _Merde._ ” Even in foreign language a curse sounds the same.

“Prettier when you say it.” The Arisen managed a weak spark of humor, daring a quick glance to take the measure of the woman beside her. Mercedes was still leaning against the table, arms now folded in the same stance that might receive bad reports from her troops.

“I must confess: I am disappointed.” A single line creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows, vague but unmistaken.

“That the old ladies’ gossip is true?” _That I might have already made a horrible mistake?_

A memory of Quina gazing down at her by candlelight stabbed her senses, making her stomach pitch. It was easier to be quick and light, to not let the weight of those thoughts or Mercedes’ harsh pronouncement sink too heavy onto her ego. There were burdens enough to carry and she needed to be able to walk out of this tent with her head still high.

“ _Non_.” Mercedes’ short hair rustled just a little when she shook her head. Her hand came to rest on the table, just close enough to brush skin with the Arisen’s fingers. Both of their gazes were immediately hypnotized by that barely-there touch, lingering until finally Mercedes broke the spell with her quiet confession, “I had hoped this leisure together might bring us to more rewarding diversions.”

She might’ve convinced herself she imagined the words. Could’ve believed they were a delusion, or a silent torment like the dragon’s own voice in her mind. But she could not invent the way that foreign tongue wrapped itself around the language, almost a magic that said one thing but promised else entirely.

Here she thought _she_ had been leading this dance. An answer was forming on the Arisen’s lips but Mercedes was quicker,

“I’ve devoted my life to my duties as knight; I’ll not risk losing that. No matter how tempting the indulgence. I fear I have no use for your dragon-born gifts.” Her decision was final, but laced with regret. For a missed chance perhaps? Or just wasted time?

“You’re mistaken.” The Arisen’s quickened reflexes let her catch Mercedes’ hand on the table, covering it with her own. Just enough to keep her in place, keep her attention. Her last chance lay in the next words. She wet her lips, “A dragon’s boon changes nothing. It certainly couldn’t make me forget the many pleasures of a woman’s company.”

“A bold suggestion.” That same daring arch of one eyebrow echoed silent challenge as Mercedes turned to face her, close enough that a deep breath would be touch. The hand under hers hadn’t pulled away. They hovered at the precipice of their duel, each waiting for the other to flinch.

“No,” the Arisen corrected, head swimming with the effect of the wine and the nearness of this striking woman almost in her arms. Impenetrable as her armor, the Arisen’s free hand sought the only bare skin she could find, trailing fingers up the elegant column of her exposed throat. _Maker, her mouth._ Only when her thumb brushed the underside of Mercedes’ jaw did she lean further in, “It’s my promise.”

A flash of brightness in eyes like steel was her only warning. The kiss was sudden, rough, rushed and careless as impatient soldiers racing to battle. No wonder that glint of danger in her gaze had been so familiar! It was polished metal catching the sun, the gleam of a blade being drawn. Sharp teeth tore a gasp past her lips and Mercedes pressed the advantage. A powerful grip encircled her waist, crushing her against unyielding armor and the pressure within turned molten.

There was nowhere to touch, nothing but hard metal and soft fur under her scrabbling hands and she wanted— _needed_ —to feel more. Her fingers twisted into cropped hair, pleading without words for the frustration rising like the groan in her throat. The assault on her lips relented, Mercedes’ mouth pressing hot and greedy down her neck. Each kiss made the throb in her veins pulse harder, hips bucking as if she might find relief for the swelling ache. The chuckle that vibrated near her ear made her shiver and furious. Her answer was a tighter tug on the short hair laced around her fingers, and then her own teeth left a mark on skin.

“ _M_ _échante,_ ” Mercedes hissed beneath a moan. The iron hold on her waist tightened, pulling— _lifting—_ and the world heaved before her back slammed against solid wood. A flurry of papers scattered to the air, crashing to the floor from the cleared command table. There was a dim clang of goblets hitting the ground, wine completely forgotten.

Mercedes’ hungry eyes took her in, every inch the conqueror surveying a battlefield ripe to be won. Fingers adept with armor from years of practice made short work of the buckles and ties at the Arisen’s waist. Nails caught the edge of her hips, left welts down her thighs as leather and metal were yanked down in a single, harsh tug. Hot skin met cool air and a tremor chased up her spine at the relief of finally being free.

The length of her swollen cock stood hard and high, practically an accusation. But the knight afforded it barely a glance, lips curling with wicked intent as her fingers crested the very edge of slick folds. Her touch teased, gracing inside each thigh to glory in the choked, frustrated noises the Arisen held behind clenched teeth.

“I was wrong,” Mercedes purred, left hand resting low on her naked stomach as the right continued to play. “You do not disappoint, Arisen.”

The title sounded different in that sultry voice, altogether dark and decadent as the lips that shaped it. Its whispery echo vanished into a groan, the shared delight of two fingers sinking deep into her waiting sex. _Maker, such hands were made for this!_ The Arisen tipped her head back, letting the wave of pleasure rush clear to her skull, barely receding before a second thrust caught the first and built higher.

Mercedes set a punishing rhythm, ravishing her depths in strokes that hit each weakness with pinpoint aim. Straight and hard, twisting and curling, pulling ever more broken gasps and stuttered moans from the Arisen. Her legs were pinned by tangled clothing, but her hands were free to reach and clutch, to grasp desperately to any handhold and she found the far edge of the table, clenching so tight she feared the wood would splinter in her grip. Her back arched upward, seeking to make each delicious plunge reach deeper.

Her neglected cock swayed with every thrust, bumping against the smooth hide of Mercedes’ white surcoat. Droplets pooled at the tip and trickled down her length, unable to contain so much pressure swelling at the base and in her core.

“Oh, _Maker_ ,” the Arisen grunted when one deep stroke managed to hit every nerve all at once, like a glass being filled to overflowing. Her breath was coming in nothing but shallow pants, each a more urgent, voiceless curse. “Maker . . .damn—I— _fuck, FU-!”_

“Commander!” The abrupt call of another soldier cut through her senses like a spell of ice.

In the wake of her aborted climax, panic reared first. She started to rise but a hand landed solidly on the table right beside her head, demanding control. Mercedes leaned over her, eyes full of silent warnings. She’d nary moved an inch, fingers still buried deep within.

“What is it?” The knight demanded without so much as turning around.

“The men on watch spied movement in the western forest. Something big.” The soldier’s report held no hint of apology or confusion, not even a shred of embarrassment touched his diligent tone. Did he really not know—?

 _Her cloak_. The Arisen managed to understand, between the fading panic and pleasant tremors that still played through her body. Mercedes’ heavy cloak reached near the ground, and in this dark tent all anyone might see was a commander hunched over the mission table, poring over military papers.

“Send a troop to investigate, but also double the guard on the gates.” Mercedes barked orders back, too busy for such trivial things. She turned just enough to look over one shoulder, catching the nervous man with a gaze that could cut, “And make certain I am not disturbed again.”

“Yes, ser.” From the sound of his staggered steps he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to flee the tent. They both waited a few seconds, half expecting worse to come.

“That was close.” The Arisen finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Indeed.” A huff answered her, lifting upward towards a chuckle. From this close, Mercedes’ smile was even more irresistible. The knight let her lips be caught once, briefly, before tilting just out of reach. “But I’m sure you’ll return there quickly enough.”

Now the fingers plunging into her became three, backed with the strength of Mercedes’ pistoning hips, thrusting hard and fast to make up for lost time. With the knight bent over her there was so much more to feel, her senses rapidly overwhelmed. The warmth of wine-fragranced breath, the strafing each time their metals collided, the chafe on her cock pinned between smooth skin and hide armor. On instinct she reached down to protect the sensitive flesh, the contact making her hips stutter and buck into Mercedes’ next deep stroke.

From holding herself it was so easy to squeeze, to glide her grip up the length and down again until she was keeping time with that exquisite rhythm stoking the fires in her belly. Long fingers were slamming into the front wall of her sex, hitting the perfect place that made fresh arousal leak from her livid tip, down the quivering velvet muscles clinging so hungrily to Mercedes’ touch.

“Mercedes.” The name felt as luxurious on her tongue as the wine they’d been drinking. She repeated it again, and again, addicted to the roll of its richness in her mouth, the soft hiss of it across her lips. Each syllable grew more urgent, staggering atop arching gasps as she felt her captive body finally surrender.

She had no sound, nothing but the groans caught in her chest, the rest swallowed in another ravaging kiss. Mercedes plundered her mouth, collecting every shuddering cry as the Arisen writhed beneath her, stomach clenching and hips bucking, muscles torn in opposite directions by the twin climax assailing her senses. A condensed pinpoint and yet an entire explosion all at once. Lust spilled out rampant, jetting from the spasming shaft onto her belly, soaking the fingers so expertly guiding her through each euphoric wave with patient attention.

Mercedes’ body kept her pinned to the table, until she was spent and weak and couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Only then did she begin to notice the softness of the mouth against hers, how much gentler the kiss had become. Those full lips now moved with hers in a dance, not a battle, subtly coaxing her to surrender ever more deeply into each caress.

The hand that had kept her trapped was now threading into her hair, cradling the back of her head as Mercedes slowly guided her to sit up without once losing their suddenly sweet embrace. As if abruptly realizing the intimacy they’d slipped into, Mercedes pulled back. Her hands refused to surrender this latest prize, but her eyes slid away, seeking some form of escape.

“You say my name beautifully,” she explained, voice low and raw enough to almost hide a thread of emotion. The flush of their activities wasn’t enough to mask the tinge of a blush that rose high on her sculpted cheeks.

“It suits you.” In the pleasant daze still slowing her thoughts the Arisen might’ve meant the name that had carried so easily on her ecstasy, or this unexpected tenderness in the hardened knight, or simply the delightful color on her face that betrayed her real thoughts. She might’ve meant all three. It only mattered that Mercedes’ smile invited her to lean in once more and enjoy the taste of lingering wine and warmth spilling onto her tongue.

The fingers nestled so deep between her thighs slowly slid free, cradling her spent sex to soothe the loss. Instinct wrapped her arms around Mercedes’ shoulders, luxuriating in the feel of fur beneath her skin, nails tickling short hair until she caught a shiver on her lips. Through so much metal the Arisen couldn’t measure the effect of her touch; could only gauge the speed of her breath, the tightness of the hand clenched in her hair and the feel of the armored body pressing more and more hungrily towards her. If not for plates and mail, she certainly could’ve felt this gorgeous woman trembling.

The moment her feet touched ground the Arisen entertained notions of turning the tables, pressing an advantage until it was Mercedes pinned between flesh and wood. Sharper wits held her back, knew that she could never demand the upper hand with this woman. Nor would she take anything not offered freely.

“Let me,” the Arisen pleaded between the trade of their kisses. _Let me return the favor. Let me touch you, taste you, feel you come undone for me and cry breathless to the Maker._ She couldn’t choose from the dozens of desires piling onto her tongue. “Let me, please, Mercedes.”

Like a magic spell, the words unlocked some secret inside the knight and she tore free. Her eyes were nothing but dark pools of lust rimmed with the glow of steel softened in forge fire. The Arisen nearly groaned in protest when the hands holding her fell away, but any sound caught in her throat, tangled with a needier choke when the other woman lifted herself onto the table, legs spread just enough to be invitation.

“You needn’t ask again.” Mercedes leaned back on her arms, challenge and permission offered in a single heated gaze.

The Arisen stepped into the space between her thighs, one hand reverently skimming up the inner seam of her leggings until she felt fevered warmth begging for touch. So much of the woman was unreachable. Boots and greaves that rose nearly hip high, chainmail and hide with fancy finish and buckles from the waist down. But in-between. Oh, Maker, for a few blessed inches just between, there was only thin fabric separating her from the feel of skin. There she could feel Mercedes’ heat, the raw and naked want so wet it had soaked through and left the swollen cleft of her sex perfectly defined.

Saying a silent prayer of thanks that there was no armor to navigate, the Arisen peeled sticky cloth away from the prize beneath her fingers. The leggings stripped down only as far as the edge of boots rising mid-thigh, but it was enough. Enough for a hand, and more . . .

“Arisen—,” Mercedes’ stutter of surprise was the most perfect music as she sank to her knees. The knight might have simply expected her attentions to be repaid in kind, but no, _oh no,_ she had so much better, greedier ideas.

The glistening folds awaiting her made her tongue twist unbidden behind teeth, hungry for the feel and sound of Mercedes against her mouth. A single swipe parted swollen lips, exploring the full and slick warmth of flesh desperate for her. The taste of musk and cotton flooded her senses, the bitter of citrus peel with the fragrance of something sweet. Her eager groan vibrated into Mercedes’ sex and the hips beneath her bucked, a soft curse gracing the air above.

One hand yanked at the fabric binding Mercedes’ thighs, making room as she dove in deeper, plunging her tongue into wet, clinging heat that shuddered with her every stroke. A litany of gasps and aborted sound spilled from Mercedes, taut muscles torn in a war to push forward and pull away all at once. Each time a stifled moan broke free it shot straight through the Arisen, made her swollen length ache and pulse anew.

She greedily plunged as far as she could reach into the velvety folds that clasped so hungrily to her thrusting tongue, plundering all she could of the nectar that continued to trickle thickly into her mouth. It was inevitable that she was drawn to the tumescence on the front wall of that tight channel, curling and lashing against it and absolutely glorying in the arching, breathless cries each wicked touch tore loose.

The ache in her cock couldn’t be ignored, demanding one of her hands to stroke and tug greedily at the building pressure in time with the speed of Mercedes’ gasps and spasms. When she heard her title falling from the woman’s lips she knew there was nothing left. Each moan of _Arisen_ punched harder, dragged her higher, raced towards the waiting edge of euphoria she could taste. Burying herself deeper into swollen folds her nose bumped against the hard point of pleasure at the apex of Mercedes’ sex, making the rock of her hips buck and fall out of rhythm.

“Yes, Arisen, _yes._ ” Mercedes’ groan was something broken and savage in her throat.

Strong fingers wound into her hair, forcing her close and tight to hips that were now grinding instinctively, unapologetically, against her face. A final, exultant tremor wracked the body above her, thighs clenching tight around her head until all she could hear was the rush of blood in her veins and the distant, tortured sound of her own release as she jerked and spilled over her fingers to the ground.

Mercedes’ legs finally went slack, giving her space to breath. She lapped at the liquid arousal still trickling free, cleaning the mess from trembling muscle and flushed skin. _Can’t have that fancy fur cape getting soiled._ She smirked ever so slightly between Mercedes’ thighs. The fingers tangled in her hair tightened, pulling her up and for a moment they simply regarded each other, flushed and spent, fully clothed but naked in the bliss they’d shared.

Without a word Mercedes pulled her in for another kiss. Not rough and plundering as their first, not gentle and sweet as the other. Her lips moved with purpose, tasting, taking, trading hunger for promise. Beneath each deliberate, luxurious caress was something unbreakable. In the coil of fingers wrapped into her hair and buckles was the firmness of iron. With a few lingering seconds of a kiss, they etched this moment into memory.

Then, just as swiftly, it was gone. Mercedes was sliding off the table and fixing her armor, casual as a training exercise with some recruit.

“I daresay _now_ you will be able to rest,” she smirked. The cocky expression was so easy on her face that it was a wonder the Arisen hadn’t seen it lurking there all along.

“Yes, I-uh-.” She was still just a little too dazed for words, tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. She cleared her throat, hoping to cut through the other woman’s flavor that filled her senses. This spell wouldn’t break her, no matter how perfect. She shook herself, rallying what little remained of her spent wits. “I know I’ll have sweet dreams.”

A coy tilt of her chin was all the acknowledgment Mercedes gave her comment. In a matter of a few steps the Arisen was across the tent, breeches done up and armor aright. She was nearly to the tent flap when that exotic accent plucked at her ears just once more.

“I fear there is little left of the bottle we started.” Mercedes picked up the jug of cloudwine and sloshed it deliberately, displaying the meager dregs at the bottom. She set it back down and folded her arms, catching the Arisen’s gaze with an unyielding challenge. “If you should find another, perhaps we can enjoy it together again.”

No answer was needed, or even welcome. Mercedes had already turned and busied herself with sorting the papers scattered in their enthusiasm. So no one saw the grin that painted itself across the Arisen’s face as she happily made her way to the rest tent for a well-earned sleep.

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

_After the Hydra battle:_

She was covered in blood. Mostly blood. _Hopefully_ mostly blood. It was sticky and purplish and it was going to take forever to scrub out. So very much of her life now was just about cleaning up messes.

Except the carnage that laid waste to the Encampment was beyond even her abilities. Soldiers were dragging their brethren out from under crushed tents and collapsed towers, gingerly trying to lift pierced bodies off the sharpened stakes of the perimeter wall. Fully a third of the camp had been destroyed; besieged by the creature’s attack and even more decimated by its wounded retreat.

No more than a few paces away lay her victory: mouth still yawning wide in threat and fangs oozing the last drops of poison. At any second it looked to make one final, death-dealing lunge. Like the vipers that could still bite after you severed their heads. _So many heads, darting in, snapping up bodies like scraps from a meal._ It took all her concentration just to uncurl the grip on her daggers. They stuck to her gloves, blood drying arms and armor into one. Was that going to hurt her blades? 

“I have never seen the like.” Mercedes’ boots crunched across splintered wood and crushed rock.

“I doubt anyone has.” The Arisen shook her head, staring to the distance where the Hydra’s slithering body had left its wake.

“Not the monster, you.” A hand rested on her shoulder, gently pulling her back to this moment, this place. Mercedes was gazing at her with awe and apology blended into one. “You scaled its back, and single-handed cut off that head. No one would even believe it possible if we hadn’t the proof!”

“The pawns knew what to do.” Her throat tightened on the words, stuck as if she couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t imagine what it was like to be swallowed whole by that damn thing. Like two of her traveling companions had been. Only Rhiannon escaped.

“But it was not they that succeeded. Only you.” Mercedes’ voice arrived more quietly, offering reassurance that no one else could hear.

Everyone felt the losses, but the men needed this moment of victory, needed their leaders to be proud and celebrate with them. With a final squeeze to her shoulder, Mercedes stepped past her to continue on. At a few paces away she stopped, standing directly before the head of the Hydra and taking it in,

“I daresay we now know the legends of the Arisen are true.” She looked back over her shoulder and, though it might have only been the play of sunlight on her armor, the Arisen would swear she winked. “All of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention before how much commenting helps me create. So thanks to those of you who already have shown support! If you or anyone else have observations, opinions or just thoughts to share, please feel free.


	3. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double check tags, people. Pregnancy kink in this chapter. If that's not something you're comfortable with, please skip.

**Lost and Found**

“Quina!”

Damn her! _How does she run so fast in sandals?!_ The Arisen’s own heavy boots seemed to find every stubborn rock and slippery patch of rotten leaves. Witchwood’s oppressive fog didn’t shroud this forested tunnel, but there was still no light save from their lanterns as she chased her retreating friend. 

“Is there danger, master?” Rhiannon ran alongside her, their two new companions just behind.

“Hell if I know!” She stayed focused on the white of Quina’s dress, thanking the Maker when it looked like she was finally losing speed.

Everything had been fine! They talked to Selene and got some information. Not to mention a bit of loot because it turned out—along with all their other skills—pawns were a bunch of incorrigibly nosy, sticky-fingered thieves. One second she’d be trying to listen to what the strange little girl in the tree house was telling them, then from a corner she’d hear _ooh, what’s this?_ and have to go slam trunk lids shut. Pretty sure the bearded one nicked some jewelry.

None of that explained why Quina took off so suddenly when they were done. Fortunately, they were nearing some answers now. The healer had slowed to the point of being caught, the Arisen grabbing one arm and dragging her to a stop.

“What is going on? Since when do you run from me?” She demanded, absently noting that she should be more breathless than she was. Magically pumping blood had its perks.

“I’m sorry, Cos. So sorry!” Quina buried herself against the Arisen’s collar, muffling the stuttered sort of breath that always went with tears.

As if she weren’t already confused enough. The Arisen sighed, wrapping her arms around the other woman and softening to cradle her as she wept.

“You three go on ahead,” she ordered the pawns without moving.

“Master—,” Rhiannon started to argue. Something she’d been getting better at almost every single day. _No feelings, my ass._

“I see light not far on. This tunnel must open to Cassardis’ woods. Wait for me there.” She fixed the pawn with a glare that dared her to even say another word. There was some small satisfaction in seeing just how small and thin a line Rhiannon’s mouth could become.

“Yes, master.” One of the other pawns smartly replied for everyone, leading the way for them to depart.

Dense foliage absorbed their retreating footsteps until the only remaining sounds were the forest itself and Quina’s stifled misery.

“What’s wrong, Quina?” She rested her cheek against a mane of wavy, tickling curls. “Talk to me, please.”

With some burst of resolution the healer pushed back enough to look up at her. The tear tracks hadn’t overly reddened her cheeks, but her lower lip was livid from the wear of teeth. Sadness, yes, but far more anger had fueled this burst of emotion.

“I came here to help you, to try to find answers!” The line furrowing her brows grew deeper, etched with every bitter word. “But it was a waste.”

“No, no it wasn’t. We know more than we did before, right?” The Arisen desperately wished she knew what to say, what magic combination of words would make the pain let go of Quina. The healer had never been easy on herself with failure, felt it like a personal blow when she couldn’t help another.

“We know this was a fool’s errand. And worse, you had to come and rescue me—all for nothing!” The fingers resting against her chest-guard curled tight, biting into hard leather. The Arisen quickly covered those hands with her own, trying to calm the festering frustration and stinging pride she could hear so sharp on that usually soothing voice.

“Well, you got to see my amazing new wolf fighting skills,” she joked, holding her breath until she saw just a glimmer of tolerant bemusement. Then a tickle of sudden irony made her chuckle, “How am I supposed to save everyone in Gransys if I can’t protect one rash village girl?”

“That, Cos,” Quina’s lips began to curl towards the beginning of a smile, “Might be easier if you didn’t shriek every time a spider came near.”

“Uhm, excuse me? You saw those spiders, right? Those things could carry off a toddler. A big, fat one – like Merin’s boy was!” She spread her hands to encompass the girth that had been Lewes as a babe, and was rewarded with actual laughter. Finally.

Quina rested her cheek against the Arisen’s shoulder, giggles gradually fading to a contented sigh. The urge to comfort moved by habit, stroking long waves of dark hair with little more than an absent hum to fill the silence. It felt so normal, being together like this; they could almost forget they were standing at the edge of a forest shrouded in dark magic and ill wishes.

“Thank you.” Quina was first to break the placid spell, not moving from the Arisen’s arms but tilting just a little to see her face.

“For dealing with the spiders?” She teased back. Joke or not, those bugs were hideous and creepy. She’d happily turn and run the next time that sound of their spewing venom hit the air. Let the pawns handle the bloody things.

“For being you.” Quina’s hand on her chin pulled her down for an appreciative kiss.

In that embrace gratitude easily grew into affection, then quickly warmed to something more, the softness of that pliant mouth becoming a familiar demand. Greed slid between their lips, sparking with every touch. A rasp of pleasure rose on her tongue, Quina welcoming her deeper with a swallowed sigh.

They were in a cursed forest. Danger could interrupt them at any moment. Or something worse; the pawns were still waiting, after all. But every objection that rose to mind was wiped away by the skill of those full lips against her own, the sounds Quina made when each thrill tightened her grasp.

The healer had one hand wound into the Arisen’s hair, the other trailing down her armor, reaching the juncture between her thighs and curling into a tight grip. She couldn’t feel through the hard leather but just the thought of what Quina was doing, what she was after—a surge of want that was nearly pain buckled her, made her break the kiss to gasp for breath.

“Quina. Wait, Quina.” Her voice between kisses sounded weak in her own ears, a command for attention that was dangerously close to pleading. Then agile fingers were loosing the buckles at her waist and she found control. Stopping both Quina’s hands she took a step back, panting and agitated but sure,

“I found something out, something important.” The gravity of her tone caught Quina’s attention, edged though it was with hints of kiss-bruised skin and ravaged sheets.

“Tell me.” Quina’s eyes had gone just a fraction wider. Dark and excited, but still with the spark of sense that hunted for answers.

 _Tell her._ It sounded easier in her head a moment ago. A moment before the truth was dancing circles in her head, naked and chortling at how she grasped for words. She pictured Mercedes gazing at her across the rim of a goblet, almost laughing as she described the Dragon’s Boon; licking her lips as though the lingering trace of wine tasted like something more.

_Shit._

“It’s dangerous.” The first coherent thought to cross her mind also, unfortunately, made it out of her mouth.

“Dangerous?” Quina repeated, shock supplanting any other thought as she worriedly closed the distance between them. “What’s it doing? Cos, are you hurt?!”

“No, nononono.” The reassurance sounded pathetic, fumbling and stubborn as a child refusing medicine.

Maker, it felt like she was shaking from top to toe, every vein in her body nothing but webs tethering her senses to the rising pulse between her legs. A deep breath gave her handle of herself, let her stand up solid and strong for what came next,

“It’s more than me, Quina. It’s part of being Arisen—.” Here she stumbled again. Not for lack of words, but because the woman pressed against her was laughing and threading her fingers back into mussed hair.

“I had already guessed that much _,_ Cos.” Quina was pulling her towards another kiss, body softly undulating against her in a way that—bloody hell, even through armor—she could _feel._

“Dammit, there’s seed!” Her frustration finally boiled over (mentally apologizing for the curse). There was some relief in the words bursting from her throat, even if the pressure further down had no such release. Holy Maker, if anything it was getting worse by the second.

“Seed, Cos?” Quina quirked one brow. It was an expression more amused than skeptical and a niggling suspicion began to creep through the Arisen’s mind. Too subtle to notice amidst the louder impulses pounding in her veins.

“I could, we might—,” _Fuck,_ but you’d never know she was usually the most silver-tongued charmer in South Gransys! Biting her cheek, she forced herself to wrangle the plainest words out of the storm in her head, “This _thing_ can create a child.”

“Almost,” Quina corrected, her mysterious smile equal parts playful and pensive. “Making a child takes two, Cos. Besides, I should think it’s late for such concerns now.”

As if that ended any discussion Quina’s lips began a torturous exploration of her throat, mouth like a brand trailing down sensitive skin. Her fingers continued with the Arisen’s buckles, small hums and giggles of delight accompanying each loosened fastener.

The swirl of confusion and questions in her mind went suddenly, instantly still when a smooth hand opened leather and palmed her swell. Everything fogged over, words and thoughts turning to the same sticky, useless sludge that rolled off her tongue as nothing but a graveled moan when Quina’s warm fingers teased her full length to a vengeful attention.

A delicate hand fondled her shaft while the other in her hair subtly coaxed her forward, pulled her one step at a time towards tempting lips just beyond reach. No matter how she doubled her grip or even caught the edge of kisses, Quina kept slipping away, deliciously close but always about to be just out of reach. Always playing a new game.

With an irritated huff the Arisen pushed forward all at once, a single long lunge driving them both into the craggy wall of this forest passage. Now there was no more teasing, the sultry brunette pinned between body and rock. Hard and harder. The healer squirmed and shifted, coiling and softening in all the right places until the whole of her body welcomed the Arisen against her.

“Finally,” breathed out of Quina on a sigh, just weary enough to sound like the complaint of teaching a stubborn child. The reward was in her mouth, on her tongue, humming with delight each time the Arisen answered her lips and pressed into the soft fingers stroking her cock.

One long leg hooked over her hip, fabric bunching and then pulled impatiently out of the way, leaving her naked shaft nestled against slick, swollen heat. A strong grip caught her shoulder, leaned into her and then rose— _climbed—_ Quina lifting herself off the ground. She caught the smaller woman under the thighs, hoisting her, holding her, losing the pleasure of their kiss but searing down her throat instead. She found that tender spot just to the side, the one that always pulled tortured, beautiful sounds from her lover. Her mouth lavished it with attention until Quina’s breath broke into gasps, hips rolling instinctively and painting her pinned cock with fresh lust.

Coupling just like this would’ve been enough. Slippery folds gliding up and down the underside of her shaft, full breasts swelling and falling against her own with every ragged breath that ruffled her hair. Quina’s supple body filled her hands, arching off the rocks each time the tip of her cock split her sex and nudged that tiny, aching jewel. Maker, it felt like any moment . . .

Groping fingers caught her jaw, forced her to slow down, to look up, listen,

“Inside.” Quina’s urgent moan twisted plea and command into a single sound. Her other hand was just as shaky, cradling the Arisen’s face and capturing the whole of her attention for the shivering demand, “I need to feel you. _Inside_ , Cos.”

All she could answer with was a nod, clumsy and rushed before she buried her face against the white fabric of Quina’s dress to pray for strength. Great, deep gusts of air stung in her throat, filled her lungs to the point of bursting. Only when her breath began to even, the stormy tide in her blood drawing back, only then did she dare to move again.

Like the pieces of a windup toy pulling apart to come together, Quina rose easily in her grip, their hips both shifting until the Arisen could feel the head of her cock slip into position. The entrance of her sex clenched at that first kiss of contact, arousal anointing her very tip.

Even the cackling crows and rustling leaves of Witchwood went quiet when Quina’s rising moan of pleasure began to climb into the air. Her inner muscles were sodden but still _oh,_ so tight, charting every inch of the Arisen’s length stretching her with clinging tremors and clasps. The eternal ring itself might’ve shattered and ended by the time she sank to the hilt, Quina’s body wrapped around her like a perfect, silk-lined glove.

Still, the marvel of that union was nothing; not compared to the exquisite thrill that answered her first thrust. The position, the rhythm, the angle, it was all different from before. Different but good. Fuck, maybe better. The control was in her hands, her grip on Quina’s thighs, her legs driving them against the mossy stone in time with hips rocking eagerly back against her, small murmurs and sweet praises urging her on.

Quina’s body always spoke a beautiful, eloquent language in passion. The way she was arching off the boulder wall now, meeting her and pressing for more: the demand was unmistakable. The Arisen sped up her thrusts, shorter and faster and closer, close enough that the writhing body pinned against her never lost contact, never had to stop grinding forward for the relief closing in like a trap.

Arching gasps and moans climbed higher, spiraled upwards with the speed of the muscles quivering and clasping at her cock with every stroke. There was no need for silence here; no one to wake, no neighbors to offend, and Quina’s cries rose unhindered and shameless to the heavens, waking and ravishing every sense. The final burst of pleasure broke her voice, silenced everything but the wet sound of the Arisen plunging into her quaking core long and hard once, twice more, before plummeting over the edge with her own strangled surrender.

It felt like her legs would give out with every spasm of her gut, every surge of heat that flooded her length to spill inside Quina and trickle slowly back down. Her hips stirred with weaker thrusts as the waves slowly receded, finally content to stay still, nestled inside her lover’s depths.

When her thoughts began to piece back together her first was that she needed to thank the Maker for stone. The rocky wall behind them was doing most of the work of keeping them both upright. She mouthed what few words of prayer she knew, offering them over and over along skin kissed with salt and blossom scent. Quina gradually roused in her arms, fingers lazily playing along her neck and in her hair once more.

“I love that feeling,” she hummed happily near the Arisen’s ear.

“I could tell.” The response earned her a light smack on the back of the head, same as any other smart ass reply all these years.

“Not _that,_ ” Quina scoffed, too content to bother with scolding. Her head tilted back against the mossy boulders, gazing serenely at her friend and lover with a smile. “Though that is very nice too.”

“Never complained before.” Second smart ass comment, second smack in the back of her head. But the pause in her breath betrayed Quina’s near laugher.

Then the healer’s eyes grew thoughtful, teeth worrying her lower lip just a little as if tasting the words that were poised to come.

“I mean this, Cos. You inside me.” She rolled her hips, defining the perfection of that iron shaft in her velvet sheathe. _Still hard, dammit._ The Arisen’s fingers instinctively dug into the full curves of her ass, etching a silent warning. Quina’s purr of delight only dropped to a lower tone, innocent but professing sins,

“And feeling you come undone—.” She had to stop, catching her breath, caught by a thrill of pleasure that rippled her muscles and made the Arisen gasped in echo. “Filling me, Cos, like I get to take part of you to keep forever.”

The silky, slick pressure clasping her cock on all sides fluttered again, and again, deliberately dragging her excitement back to unbearable. The Arisen felt a punch of air flee her lungs, grunting as her body responded instantly to Quina’s pull, hips already stirring to answer.

“Maker’s Bones, Quina.” The blasphemy so trembled on her breath it was nearly a whimper, a penitent’s confused plea with gallows laughter, “Just how much of me do you want?”

Their slowly building rhythm didn’t miss a beat, even when Quina leaned close to her lips so that she could feel, could breathe, could _taste_ the answer,

“ _Everything._ ”

That word tangled inside her, tied every desire into a single knot that twisted hard and heavy in her gut. Quina’s luminous eyes fixed on the Arisen with a depth that threatened to swallow her whole. Naked want filled every crack and crevice of that gaze, more grand and eternal than any lust, any single, impulsive moment. 

“I want everything, Cos,” Quina repeated in a whisper, promises in an almost kiss. “Everything you can give me.”

That delicate, ethereal confession summoned a legion visions to mind, painting her thoughts in a dozen shades of longing she’d never once known. Spilling inside Quina, yes, but more: leaving a piece of herself to stay. Oh fucking heaven, to _grow._ She found Quina’s lips, heated but clumsy, tongue and teeth, catching messy strands of hair.

The hips undulating against her worked her shaft, milking out pearls and slips of lust with every pulse. She couldn’t even feel her wrists and knuckles chafing bloody against raw stone, fresh urgency flooding her veins each time she sank to the hilt, bottomed out to the sound of Quina’s moans vibrating through them both. Hands clutched feverishly at her neck, heels drumming a tattoo on the back of her thighs.

Full curves writhed against her, soft in all the right places but still slender, still thin and taut where hard work left nothing else. What might she feel like, growing fuller with each passing moon. . .? A groan clawed up the Arisen’s chest, freed from somewhere deeper than she’d ever dared let herself explore. Like a language in nature Quina’s breathless moan answered back, split their kiss into broken and panting confessions.

 _Give me, can feel it, want it, Cos, everything._ Her pleas wove a spell in the air, repeated over and over like a mantra of faith. The Arisen felt her own tongue moving, shaping words, ideas she hadn’t seen, fantasies she’d hadn’t known. _You’d be so beautiful. Full, like fruit getting ripe, getting round, f—Quina._ She could barely stifle the curses, visions spilling from her lips, poured like sacrifice against sweat-dampened skin and tangled hair.

“Yes, Cos, tell me,” Quina begged against her ear, a voice somehow distant from the body ravishing her, greedily taking more and more. The throbbing in her cock had fused into a constant pressure, building higher with each stroke, pushing bolts of pleasure further and further through her veins.

“Want to see,” the Arisen managed to gasp out through her clenched jaw. Fighting to shape words on each shallow, rapid gust of air she let the images behind her eyes run rampant. _To touch you._ Hands exploring a naked belly, charting it like undiscovered country. _Feel you._ The weight of breasts; fuller, aching for attention, ready for her hands and mouth. _Heavy with child._ Her hips jerked, body caught in a spasm, silken muscles rippling on all sides of her cock drawing out that last moment of anguish into something eternal. _My child._

That final spark set the blaze. White hot and quick as lightning it blossomed from her gut and seared through her being, blacking the world for a precious second and all that mattered was the feel of ecstasy flooding her body and bursting free in thick, sticky streams. A riot of shudders and quakes answered her release, clenching to keep her in place, to draw everything she gave even deeper.

Color bled slowly back into her eyes, blurred yet familiar. The rushing blood in her ears faded away to the low sound of Quina’s voice, murmuring her name over and over. The Arisen turned and caught her lips, sensitive but welcoming the affection. She gradually loosened her grip on Quina’s thighs, peeling her fingers away with effort and hoping she hadn’t drawn blood.

When the healer’s feet were back firmly on the ground they finally allowed themselves to part, oddly silenced by those few inches’ distance. Something was different, even though nothing had actually changed. It was just a sense of _shifting_. Like the days when spring is growing into the heat of summer.

Once their clothing was neatened as much as possible, (there was no helping the damp mess that had smeared the front of her leathers) they started towards the far end of the passage, the distant light where the pawns were waiting. A few steps in the Arisen extended her hand, letting out a sigh of relief when Quina met her halfway. Their fingers laced together, fitting as easily as they always had and the weight pressing so heavily on her chest finally let go.

“You knew, didn’t you?” She cast a sidelong glance at the other woman.

“Knew what?” Quina didn’t bother looking back at her, fascinated instead with each and every new flower and plant she’d not seen before.

“About the dragon’s—,” the Arisen hesitated, still not fully comfortable with the words Mercedes had used. “The possibilities.”

“I know how children are made, Cos. I’ve assisted in many pregnancies and births.” Quina’s dancing eyes turned to her now, alight with her own unique color of merriment.

“Sure.” She nodded quickly, adding under her breath, “But none involved you getting fuc-,”

“Language.” Quina’s free hand slapped her shoulder. Which, considering she was wearing an iron guard, had to have hurt.

“Sorry.” The Arisen dutifully bit her tongue and cast a glance of apology. Even if she was right.

Quina might know much of the complexities of life and death, but she’d experienced only a sliver of it for herself thus far. Between sweaty sheets, screaming labor and mourning the dead there was a whole world full of dangers; herbs and tinctures could only fix so much. Still, she’d never been one to shy away from a challenge, nor fear for herself. Honestly, it was that well-intentioned, ill-informed courage that they shared more than anything else. That, and a love of indulging in nature’s more pleasurable demands.

 _She’ll make a great mother._ The Arisen had known that about her friend for years. It was so obvious in the way she always paused in the Cassardis roads to talk to the children, play their games, admire their toys and praise their adventures. Her heart was full of more patience and kindness than could be spent healing the village, hers was the kind of love meant to nurture and grow.

More than once the Arisen had tried to imagine which man was good enough to give Quina the future she deserved, the family she wanted. It made her angry every time. Not jealous, exactly, just . . . dissatisfied. None of them were good enough for her. (Plus, honestly, none of them would make pretty babies.) They might all be fine men in their own way, suitable for most of the women in the village. But Quina wasn’t most women. Hell, who else would go running off to the Witchwood alone like she had?

Her fist must have been getting tighter, gripping too hard, because Quina’s other hand covered their joined fingers, gently reminding her to relax. The Arisen nodded, letting out a deep breath and softening her shoulders out of the defensive posture that had been creeping up her spine. She darted her eyes to the other woman, giving her a quick smile of reassurance and hoping Quina couldn’t read her thoughts now the same way she so often did. If she could, the healer kept it to herself, responding with nothing more than a comforting smile and squeeze of her hand.

They walked silently just a little longer, until the light ahead opened into a large, vine and moss shrouded exit. Before they reached it she stopped them short, pulling Quina to face her and praying they could both be serious if only for a moment.

“Quina, what if you really do end up—?” She had trouble finishing the sentence, still tinged as it was by her earlier, confusingly new excitement. 

“Pregnant?” Quina’s arched eyebrow taunted her, well-aware of her discomfort.

“Yes, pregnant.” Bloody Maker, if this damn ‘boon’ was going to be part of her life, she really had to learn to be able to talk about it. Without blushing.

“Relax, Cos.” The brunette’s airy laughter lightened everything. One finger reached to swipe the Arisen’s brow, erasing the worry line that had begun to form. “It takes more than a few tumbles for any couple to conceive; else Cassardis would be overrun with babes year in and out.”

“They aren’t the Arisen,” she pointed out wryly, gesturing to herself, “Cursed by a cruel and apparently randy dragon.”

“They aren’t _you._ ” Quina grabbed her other hand, holding both now to force her attention to stay focused. “Arisen or not, I can imagine no one finer than you, Cos. No one else I have loved so easily, so long. You say the dragon cursed you, I say it’s the Maker’s gift.”

“Remember that during the third month of baby fits and no sleep.” So much for trying to be serious. It was just too easy when she felt the weight of emotion pressing in on her to slip away and hide behind her oldest shield. 

For better or worse, Quina knew that too.

“IF,” the healer emphasized the word like law, tolerating no argument, “If there is a child, it is my choice, Cos, not your mistake. I would happily make sure the world has another with your traits.”

“Stubbornness, charm and this fantastic chin?” The Arisen pointed to the cleft that made her looks subtly different from the other women in their village. Inherited from her grandmother, apparently.

“Definitely your sense of humor.” Quina rolled her eyes, but smiled as they resumed their journey, “And courage born of heart, not ego.”

“All wonderful, of course, but what about the bad stuff? I like ale a bit too much, and can hold grudges for years. Plus, you hate how I swear.” The Arisen did her best not to curse around her friend, but growing up on fishing boats it was nearly impossible to strip the vile out of her language completely.

“That doesn’t concern me so much.” Quina shrugged, brushing aside the low hanging vines and stepping out to the cliff edge where the pawns were waiting. She glanced over at the Arisen with the look of a gambler playing their final, winning card. “Besides, I think a tongue like yours can only be learned.”

With that last gibe, she dropped off the ledge and disappeared into the Cassardis woods. The Arisen stayed watching her, wondering just what her answer might have been if Quina had stuck around long enough to hear it.

“You humans certainly do make a lot of expressions,” Rhiannon innocently observed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to those of you who have commented thus far. Please continue with thoughts and feedback as it helps me stay focused and inspired!
> 
> BTW, I'm not the only one that noticed the pawns are total kleptomaniacs.  
> https://www.deviantart.com/narutolover6219/art/Dragon-s-Dogma-Pawn-Fail-2-306049999


	4. A Diverting Excursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review updated tags, please double-check none of it makes you uncomfortable before reading. Some actual canon used here for plot, but don't worry, you don't really have to know the game to enjoy. (I hope)

**A Diverting Excursion**

Gran Soren was a perfect city for getting lost. Winding cobblestone streets and shadowed alleys, bridges and stairs running every direction, tunnels that wove secretly from grand mansions to gutters. For the first few days the Arisen couldn’t set foot past the market square without getting hopelessly turned around, repeatedly finding herself trapped in dead ends or the maze of the Venery. Now, though, after scouring every inch of the city dozens of times over, she could tell where she was just by the slope of the roads and the shadows each building cast.

She paid no mind where her feet took her now, only knew that she couldn’t stop. She needed to keep walking, keep moving. Some she passed greeted her, some got the hell out of the way; most just studied her in confusion, like a face they couldn’t quite recognize. They’d never seen her without armor. Shit, she hadn’t taken a step without daggers at her side since . . . how long now? A month? Two?

Rhiannon would know. She’d have to remember to ask her. When she got back to the inn and unlocked the chain that was keeping the pawn tied to a heavy bedframe. It was the only way she could escape to come out alone, dammit! The bloody ruckus Rhia made when she realized what was happening—that her precious master was daring to go for a _walk_! Like an ordinary person, no less! No leathers, greaves or gauntlets, no chestguards, bracers, blades. Honestly, until now she didn’t even know pawns could swear. Quite the impressive vocabulary too _._

 _Probably my influence._ That thought should have made her feel guilty, or at least not quite so proud. There’d be hell to pay when she got back, of course. Lectures and apologies, promises it would never happen again and on and on. But right now she needed this, needed to feel normal.

Or as close to normal as was possible anymore.

A salacious wink from one of the streetwalkers caught her eye; the lewd gesture that followed making her wish she hadn’t looked. Armor kept more secrets than these lightweight breeches she’d chosen, but it didn’t really bother her anymore. No one ever dared say anything. Maker, after all the jobs and favors she’d done the people of this city? She could run through the streets dressed in nothing but a chain of polished bells and they wouldn’t so much as tut.

Maybe next time. Just that mental image managed to ease the thin line of her lips, let her realize her jaw was aching from being clenched so long. All these weeks she’d thought it wasn’t possible to hear worse than the voice of the dragon. Now she wished that familiar thunderous roaring could drown out the graveled, somber words playing over and over in her mind.

 _Never look back. Tis our duty and our fate._ The man had seemed like some ancient tome, cracked leather for skin and full of countless, forgotten secrets. _My battle as Arisen has spanned a thousand years and yet it knows no end._ A thousand years. _Nor shall it, until the Arisen to follow me strikes the dragon dead._ A **thousand** years and not once had anyone slain the dragon. How many arisens were chosen? How many slaved and sacrificed everything to face that beast, only to fail?

Even Edmun. The Duke. The one all Gransys hailed as Dragonsbane. He was Arisen before her and he’d survived. He must have succeeded in some way, but not enough. Not completely. What had he done? What stories had he told when he returned alive but without a beat in his chest?

 _As long as the dragon lives, the hearts in its safekeeping know no death._ A thousand years of hearts pulsing down through time, an unbroken rhythm that connected her to this weathered man, to all the others who’d failed before him and after. She stopped walking, knew she couldn’t keep trying to outrun what she’d discovered, couldn’t un-hear the truth. The whole world was tilting and a nearby wall caught her, let her rest while her head continued to spin.

Until today she knew of only two who’d been Arisen. Now three. What happened to the rest of them? _Neither age nor illness will ever claim us._ Some might have fallen in battle before even reaching the dragon. Others could have chosen to flee, to never face him at all. _We have stepped free of this mortal coil, Arisen._ Perhaps they ended themselves, escaping the punishment of an eternity in defeat. She almost hoped that was the case. It was what she might choose to do. If the time came and there was nothing else. . .

“That is a face far too pretty to be sad.” A familiar, lilting voice twined flirtation with reproach.

The noise in the Arisen’s mind mercifully stilled. Worries and questions parted, allowed her to picture clearly the lips that were no doubt pouting at her, the manicured hand resting impatiently on one hip, a scandalous décolletage putting her very finest assets on display. Everything about her deliberately danced at the edge of shameless. After all: gossip was just another way to advertise, wasn’t it? Nothing could be more—

“Madeleine.” The Arisen opened her eyes, smiling as she studied the blonde merchant from head to toe. Pouting, yes. Hand on the hip, got it. Plunging neckline aaaaaand—she forced herself to focus upward, “You look lovely as ever.”

“You treasure, still so charming!” Madeleine sauntered towards her, elegant as a noble, ruthless as a wolf. Even the flash of her smile had the feel of fangs. “But I’ll not forgive you so easily. You waited far too long to come visit me!”

The Arisen checked her surroundings, mildly surprised to realize where her aimless wanderings had ended. She couldn’t be more than five paces from Madeleine’s shop. She hadn’t been here since that night she was doing the job for Mason. How enlightening _that_ little errand had been!

“It’s actually not my first time,” she demurred, wondering how much to admit. Madeleine had a true liar’s nose for deceit, so best to stay nearer the truth. “I stopped by before, but you were rather busy with a very handsome knight.”

“Pish and nonsense, I’m never too busy for you.” A flutter of Madeleine’s hand waved away the very notion. She looped an arm through the Arisen’s elbow, drawing her off the wall with that lethal pout, “Oh, but don’t tell me you’re _jealous_.”

To her credit she didn’t laugh at the suggestion. Her sudden strangled cough made it impossible.

“Never,” the Arisen assured her, once she’d cleared the choke out of her voice. “I know you’re devoted to your only true love: a good bargain.”

“You _do_ understand me. That’s why we’ve always gotten on so well!” Madeleine effused, clinging to her arm with both hands and dragging her into the shop.

The place was sparse to the point of desperation, swept for every last coin and keepsake. Shuttered windows added an air of dark intrigue. Somehow, she doubted Ser Julien’s late night visit was the only secret inside these walls.

“It’s empty I know, but I’m very particular which wares I’ll stock. The greed of some of these craftsmen! Thinking they can cheat me with shoddy fakes . . .” Madeleine chatted excitedly as she flitted about the space, adjusting cabinets and shelves, touching things for no reason.

One tall cupboard stood near the merchant’s counter, a perfect spot to lean while listening to frivolous tales of greed and chicanery, wits and winnings. It didn’t have to make sense; like songs in a foreign language it was enough to enjoy the sound and let her mind drift along the melody. It was only when Madeleine began lighting extra lamps that the Arisen realized the sun had set. Not that much light was every likely to reach this place.

“And these street peddlers! Always lurking nearby, trying to steal my business—.” Madeleine abruptly stopped all her fussing, that last complaint fading into a wry chuckle, “Listen to me, prattling on. It’s terribly selfish! Now, what about you?”

“I’m selfish too.” The Arisen shrugged easily, pleased with something as simple as hearing Madeleine’s laugh. The blonde was standing in front of her now, lips tilted in that sly smirk that told the world she knew its secrets.

“No, you aren’t. Such a pity, too. We’d make quite a pair if you didn’t insist on being noble so often.” She lightly rested both hands on the Arisen’s chest, playing with the open collar of her tunic. It was a subtle intimacy, more test than temptation, asking a silent question.

“Just remember my ‘nobility’ has helped you make coin. Not to mention saved your ass a few times.” Her fingers wandered to Madeleine’s corseted waist, laced so tight a gasp would make it tear. Wouldn’t that be fun to try?

“And you expect me to believe your interest in my ass has never been selfish, hmm?” Madeleine leaned in with a throaty purr, heavy breasts pinning her own hands to the Arisen’s chest.

“Selfish _and_ noble. I’d not see the world lose a woman of your many,” she paused, reaching down to palm a full cheek through layers of cloth. “Gifts.”

“Naughty thing.” Madeleine reveled in the attention, catching the Arisen’s lips in a feisty kiss.

Everything with this woman was a transaction. Even without words her mouth offered lucrative promises, exchanges, a complex language of give and take and take more. No matter how yielding, how sweetly she offered up a breathy moan, there was always a greedy cunning in her surrender.

Madeleine’s hands raked into the Arisen’s hair, letting the swell of pillow-y breasts press heavily against her own. There was naught but a few pieces of fabric between them and she could feel every excited inhalation, her tunic suddenly rough and chafing on sensitive peaks. Need in her was rising, swift and hard; it could only be Madeleine’s many layers that kept her from noticing. The blonde had relinquished her lips, coaxing the tilt of the Arisen’s head until she felt a warm tongue dart along her ear.

“I believe,” Madeleine’s words had no voice, just tickling whispers and the nibble of teeth torturing another shudder down her spine. “I still owe you a debt for your generosity.”

Like she’d been burned the Arisen yanked her hands away. She was pressed to the cupboard but had escaped worse moments in battle, a swift twist reversing their positions.

“No.” She was still breathing hard but steady. Madeleine started to protest, to push forward, but she planted her hands firmly on the blonde’s shoulders and forced her back, shaking her head, “I don’t want obligations or payments, Madeleine. Don’t sell yourself to me.”

Huge blue eyes stared at her in confusion, lips parting in search of a reply. Before any foolishness could change her mind the Arisen turned to leave; disappointed, and yet somehow, not entirely surprised. She’d only gone a pace before a hand shot out and caught the back of her tunic, halting any escape.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” That sultry voice had an edge to it now, her ‘no discounts’ tone.

“Do I? Maker, I don’t think I know anything anymore,” the Arisen sighed, helpless against so much more than this moment.

Madeleine closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around the taller woman’s waist and simply held her from behind. An apology perhaps, or just comfort. Artful hands drifted beneath the Arisen’s tunic, barely grazing skin.

“Because you think too much, pretty thing. You need to stop thinking. Just feel.” Madeleine’s fingernails scraped up the cleft of her stomach, teased the underside of her breasts. Her persuasive mouth was back at the Arisen’s ear, a kiss of fire on the tender rim, “Don’t you remember the fun we used to have?”

“Might be different now,” the Arisen grunted from behind her teeth, the squeeze of both hands on her nipples sending a jolt straight to her loins.

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” The chuckle accompanied Madeleine releasing one breast, tickling down her abdomen to settle just above the bulge that twitched and rose towards her touch.

“Heard?” The word echoed off her tongue and in her mind, a sliver of worry trapped beneath her other senses like a speck of glass in molasses.

“Don’t worry, no one’s kissed and told,” she hummed against the Arisen’s ear, soft lips with the pierce of teeth. Two spread fingers slid up and down the front of her breeches, traced the throbbing outline. Madeleine’s tone dropped lower, honeyed with sinful delight, “But you didn’t think you could keep this secret, did you? Good news travels fast.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Madeleine.” She fought valiantly for that last objection, a protest seeking permission. The front of her pants was already a full confession, in a matter of moments there’d be droplets of stain weeping through to beg.

“You’re right,” Madeleine agreed a little too easily, the husk in her voice eager to give up this stubborn fight. “This time, my treasure, its pleasure before business.”

That confident promise was enough to allow the Arisen to spin around, to catch hold of Madeleine in both arms and savor the startled gasp of another kiss. The blonde’s curves were pure decadence crushed against her, filling her hands, squirming into her and pressing for more. 

Their passions had always found each other through greed more than affection. Want could be ignored but need couldn’t, and Madeleine had made a business out of understanding need. She wielded it like a weapon, sharpened it with all the expert persuasions of her mouth.

Delicate hands crept up the Arisen’s sides, turned to iron on her shoulders and pushed her down. A burst of surprise escaped her, the feel of suddenly landing in a chair coupled with the loss of that devouring kiss. When she looked up the world was filled with an irresistible siren of temptations: tousled blonde hair cascading around flushed cheeks and kiss-ravished lips parted for air.

“So you’re fond of my ‘gifts,’ are you?” Madeleine echoed the Arisen’s own words with a coy smile. She toyed with the laces of her dress, loosing the stays one by one until her blouse split open. Ample cleavage overflowed the weak fabric, spilling into naked view.

Perfect pert nipples stared at the arisen, taut and begging in the evening air. There was no conscious thought, only the lunge of her hands to drag Madeleine closer, to bring the temptation of those generous breasts to her face, into her mouth. Alabaster skin was cool and smooth beneath her lips, tender peaks pebbling on her tongue. The blonde stepped in close, standing between spread thighs, hands combing through messy hair with murmurs of encouragement to urge her on.

The Arisen nibbled at an aching bud, the other rolling in her fingers; she wanted— _needed—_ Madeleine in her lap. The surges of demand between her thighs ached for contact, friction, anything to ease the boiling pressure desperate for any touch. Her arm wrapped around the merchant’s waist, trying to pull her down, to meet the insistent rise of her hips. Madeleine refused.

“What the f—?” The Arisen bit her own lip to staunch a protest when the succulent breast she’d been worshipping was torn away.

“Fuck?” Madeleine finished her sentence, a wicked tilt of one brow daring her to deny it. Her fingers drifted down the Arisen’s cheeks, tickled her neck, dug into her shoulders and pressed her back against the chair. The wolf was in her eyes again as she slowly sank down to her knees, “I remember your healer doesn’t like it when you swear, does she?”

“No.” No, Quina didn’t like cursing. No, it felt wrong to talk about her right now. No, she couldn’t think of Quina when Madeleine was kneeling between her legs and freeing her swollen length to stand eager and full.

“Her loss.” Madeleine shrugged just a little, smirking as she ran her hands over tensed thighs, admiring every pulse and twitch that answered her roving fingers; especially the small pearls of excitement leaking down her shaft. Gazing up at her from this position Madeleine was the fall of saints, the demon that could tempt any soul willingly into the clutches of hell. Those wide, blue eyes never broke contact while she dipped down, brushing a kiss to the Arisen’s weeping tip. That sensation alone was a new heaven, but when she looked back up, licking her lips? 

“—,” the Arisen clamped down on her tongue, stifling all but the groan that vibrated in her chest. Her eyes winced shut, seeking some thread of control in the spiraling void.

“Ah-ah, what’s the point of a show if no one’s watching?” Madeleine’s kittenish taunt lured her back.

With a silent prayer and oath she dared to force her eyes open, immediately mesmerized by the sight of Madeleine fondling herself. Her cleavage filled both hands and spilled over, palming the full weight, squeezing supple flesh, fingertips teasing stiff peaks. Without ceasing those skillful ministrations the blonde leaned closer into her lap, breasts brushing and then completely enveloping her risen cock.

“Oh, _fuck_!” This time there was no censoring herself, no holding back the surge that tightened her belly, made her reach for the blonde like a lifeline. She slid forward to the edge of the chair, instinctively offering herself to be consumed. And she’d thought she was hard before!

“That’s it, beautiful, I want to hear you.” Madeleine’s siren song tugged at the heat in her depths, dragged more arousal into her shaft to bead and trickle from the tip. The Arisen squirmed in her seat, wetness between her thighs throbbing as much as her length.

Silky skin cradled her shaft, stroked up and down, caressed her on all sides in a luxuriant grip completely different from anything she’d felt before. Her desire was leaking freely now, spilling down her own length, smearing in the valley between Madeleine’s breasts and making each stroke quick and smooth. The sight of rounded breasts swallowing her cock over and over, the flushed head just piercing through, leaving streaks of lust on pale skin . . .

“Ever-fucking- _Maker_.” The groan crept up from deep inside, a release of the exquisite agony building in her core.

“Ooh, yes, I like that.” A delighted purr tickled her cock on the next stroke, warm lips greeting her tip each time it thrust up through pressed flesh. Random darts of Madeleine’s tongue lashed at her head, lapping up any excess and coaxing even more to run free.

“I-I— _oh, shit,_ Madeleine!” Her hands grabbed both sides of the chair, white-knuckled as her stomach clenched and hips jerked up hard enough to leave the seat completely. The sight of Madeleine’s mouth over her tip held her transfixed, each stream of her release caught in crimson lips until there was too much to swallow and it splattered down over her breasts instead. 

It took a long, shuddering breath, and then another, before the Arisen felt herself vaguely inside her own body once more. The chair’s harsh wood biting into her back, molded in her clenched fists, the scent of lamp oil and old dust stirred but settling. When her vision focused she saw Madeleine still knelt between her thighs, breasts streaked with white rivulets that raised goosebumps, slowly drying in the night air.

“Sorry.” The Arisen pushed to her feet, looking around for a wash basin, a cloth, anything to clean the mess she’d made.

“You do insist on being decent.” Madeleine rolled her eyes wearily before raising one hand in permission, “Very well then, help me up.”

Mentally scolding herself, the arisen immediately took the proffered hand and guided Madeleine back to her feet. She tried to focus but her eyes kept drifting to the bounty of those breasts, marked so unmistakably in a way that made her insides stir. Madeleine followed her attention, a crafty smile curling one corner of her mouth.

“Proud of your handiwork, Arisen?” Madeleine traced her finger through a clinging trail, bringing it between her lips to suck clean. Lust-blown blue eyes swallowed her gaze, taunted her with want. When she swept up another taste of the whiteness smearing her breasts the Arisen caught her hand. Neither dared to look away as she took the sticky finger into her own mouth, curled her tongue around every inch.

Spurred by Madeleine’s stifled groan, she dropped that clean finger and grabbed the woman herself, pulling her close and laving attention across her breasts. The blonde’s proudest asset was also her weakness and the Arisen knew every tender place that brought forth a whimper, made Madeleine arch into her lips and offer herself to be devoured.

Urgent hands raked through her hair, at first guiding her mouth but then tightening, pulling her away. They stared at each other over ragged breath, nostrils flaring and lips parted as they calculated the cost of whatever came next.

“That cupboard,” Madeleine nodded towards a cabinet near the far door. “Be a dear and get an interventive. We’ll need it.”

Before the Arisen could asked questions she found herself pushed away, hurried towards a confusing chore. Behind her she vaguely heard a stubborn drawer squeaking, rummaging noises, the rustle of fabric. The cabinet she’d been directed to contained a treasure trove of medicaments, draughts, ointments and perfumes. Elaborate bottles mingled with unassuming jars, each a different color and temperature as the Arisen sorted through. 

A light green liquid finally caught her eye (all the way in the back, of course) and she snatched it out. No label or price on it; not for selling then. But it was definitely the correct medicine. Rhiannon always insisted they carry a couple in case of unexpected injury or poison. 

She returned with the vial, placing it next to a handful of other items that had appeared on the counter. Stripped black leggings, for one. But also several pieces of clean cloth, and—she picked up the blue concoction—another curative?

“Planning on hurting me that much?” It was only half a joke as she studied the assembled supplies. The blonde always had a wild streak in the bedroom, more than once leaving them both in need of salve and bandages. 

“Don’t be silly.” Nimble fingers deftly slipped the blue bottle out of the Arisen’s hands. “Some indulgences simply require a little more _negotiation.”_

That word was positively lascivious on her tongue, laden with sensual promise. She freed the cork, a familiar fragrance immediately invading the Arisen’s senses. Oak Leaf oil. The woody scent hit like a fist, grabbed at her and twisted, summoned visceral memories that even now made her flush with heat.

“Oh good, you _do_ remember,” Madeleine giggled, daintily pulling up the layers of her dress to reveal bare, ivory skin. Like unveiling art, inch after inch of long, naked leg came into view. Just as the bottom hem neared her hips she stopped, turning around to bend oh, so suggestively over the counter.

“How could I forget?” The Arisen could scarcely croak. In an instant her mouth, tongue, throat, _everything,_ had gone dry, even her eyes. That tantalizing view: curvaceous, supple cheeks jutting up towards her, deliberately swaying in temptation! Not a drop of moisture existed anywhere in her body, only in the rising pulse of her shaft, the arousal wet between her thighs.

One hand explored those full, naked curves, fanned her grip wide over shapely flesh that tensed and softened so beguilingly beneath her palm. The feeling assailed her memory, married this familiar sensation with a time when it was new and illicit.

_— “Are you sure you grew up in an Abbey?” There was no masking the doubt in her voice,  
mesmerized by the sight of her oiled finger sinking into the forbidden. _

_“I prefer to think I grew up when I left.” Madeleine faltered, her silent chuckle aborted when a second  
finger joined the first in exploring her nether passage._

_“And you let men take you here?!” The tightness made it seem impossible, or at the very least painful.  
But she was gradually getting a feel for it. The trick was not hooking her fingers as she would in a  
woman’s sex but spreading, wiggling, amazed by the feel of those strangling muscles easing in welcome._

_“That’s all I’d give them.” This time Madeline did laugh, a melodious sound rising atop her moan  
as she bowed her hips to draw each stroke deeper. “I’ll not trade my business to become milk cow for some mewling babe.”_

_“Too bad.” She looked up at Madeleine sprawled on her bed, magnificent cleavage rising and falling like the cities of kings._  
_Good thing the woman was too caught up in pleasure to see her grin, “Your milk could probably feed a village.”_ —

Her thumb was resting in just the right place, at the edge of the cleft that led inevitably lower. Slow, steady squeezes made Madeleine arch, pressing into the massage that spread her open. The Oak Leaf oil was thick when the Arisen tipped the bottle, trickling it from the small of her back down the lower valley, moving to catch it on her hand, smearing it between the swells of that comely ass. First was only a finger rubbing oil around that pinkish star, then touching the rim, then pressing. Not enough to sink in, just enough to test; an instant whine from Madeleine promised her the answer.

“Don’t tease a girl.” The merchant looked over her shoulder, lower lip caught beneath her teeth as she rolled her hips enticingly, bumping harder against the Arisen’s hand.

Who was she to deny such a seductive request? The tip of her finger pushed into that puckered ring, planning to be patient, but a sudden buck from Madeleine took her to the last knuckle with a groan. Fuck, she’d forgotten what _this_ was like. The muscles clung to her tighter than any sex, so strong she feared a broken bone. But she slowly flexed her finger, setting up a rhythm of small pulses and waves that massaged from the inside until she could feel that grip begin to soften, until Madeleine was rocking back against her with small urgent noises encouraging each stroke.

A second finger joined the first, twisting and scissoring until the channel loosened again, letting her thrust smoothly in and out, angling to hit as deep as she could reach. Beneath her hand Madeleine’s folds were full and glistening, lust mixing with the oil to paint the inside of her thighs. That mingled fragrance climbed into the air with soft, crooning moans as the blonde pushed back, asking for more.

With her other hand the Arisen played through that wetness, fingertips finding the hard bud nestled in soft flesh and drawing light circles. Madeleine’s whole body jerked, impaling herself on long fingers with a burst of decadent blasphemy.

“Mmmm, _fuck_ yes, you gorgeous thing,” she panted, one hand roughly fondling her own breast.

The blonde’s body writhed beautifully atop the counter, legs spreading wider to invite even more attention. A mangled groan protested the loss of contact on her clit, but cracked and shattered when the same fingers sank into her sex instead. She curled against the swollen spot on Madeleine’s front wall, hooking into it with every hard pass while her other fingers stayed buried deep in her nethers, just coaxing and spreading her wider and wider. A third finger pushed her closer to the edge, filled her ass to the limit and _Maker!_ —the Arisen could actually feel herself from inside! Her knuckles brushed against each other through a thin wall and the shock of excitement nearly dropped her knees.

“Close, oh, _fuck me_ , so close!” Madeleine begged, tugging greedily at a taut nipple and beginning to quake.

The curse, raw as instinct, hollowed a pit in the Arisen’s belly, dragged her forward to lean over the blonde and whisper hotly in her ear, “I haven’t even _started_ fucking you yet.”

Her lower thumb found that stiff jewel once more, painting it with rough swipes even as her fingers worked all of Madeleine’s pleasures mercilessly. There was no rhythm anymore; just shameless, racing need and the finish broke without warning. The blonde’s gasps suddenly cracked into a long, wanton moan, her body tense and trembling through waves of ecstasy.

Only when Madeleine’s legs went limp did the Arisen know she could pull away. She eased her fingers out of slick folds first, coated in translucent streams of release. That slippery hand fumbled with the interventive, nearly knocking it over before finally pulling the stopper free. Madeleine shuddered when the Arisen slid out of her ass, quickly dousing her fingers in medicant and grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe clean.

“So, Arisen.” Madeleine began to stir. Her voice was raspy and low, rolling the title on her tongue like a child’s taunt. She lifted to her elbows and looked behind with the seduction of sheer defiance glinting in those gemstone eyes, “ _Now_ are you ready to fuck me?”

“No.” There was a juvenile delight in seeing the other woman’s shocked expression. But the upper hand never lasted long with Madeleine, so she quickly stripped her tunic and bent over the prostrate blonde, tugging more of that dress down creamy shoulders until her body could press against bare skin. The sensation of smooth, naked warmth beneath her breasts was exactly what she’d been needing, teasing kisses up Madeleine’s neck until she found a delicate ear,

“ _Now_ I am _._ ” The Arisen reached down and took her length, guiding it to the tender passage she’d thoroughly prepared.

That first tight ring threatened to hold her back, a stab of worry piercing even the deep lust coiling in her groin. Then Madeleine turned enough to catch her lips, not just gently reassuring but with teeth and tongue daring her to push on. Darting swipes and long strokes plundered her mouth, taught her exactly what the blonde’s lustful body demanded and she willingly gave in.

Every inch she sank deeper into that tight channel seemed an eternity and an instant. These muscles didn’t flutter or ripple like the persuasions of a woman’s sex; there was only friction and pressure, clenching each time Madeleine gasped and moaned.

“Oh, _oh—_ bloody _hell_ , Madeleine,” the Arisen panted against a bare shoulder while her hips worked, back and forth and further with every stroke. Tighter than an ogre’s death grip the muscles squeezed her, clenched like she would never be free.

Bottles on the counter clattered as she fumbled over them, knocking over the interventive but grabbing the oil. It was cold against her belly, shivering when it trickled down her shaft. She caught the excess in her hand, smeared it on her length each time she pulled back and sank forward again. The smooth glide was becoming a rhythm, matching the heavy throb that pulsed from the base of her cock to the tip with every stroke.

“That’s it, gorgeous, _just_ like that.” Madeleine’s throat arched in luxurious delight, head tossed back, spine bowing as she pressed her hips to meet those long, penetrating thrusts.

Her breasts were pinned between tense arms, swaying with the rock of their bodies. The Arisen scooped her hands underneath, catching both bountiful swells and groaning happily at the feel of them in her palms. The air filled with beautiful, licentious witness to their coupling; the slap of hips against Madeleine’s willing ass, slippery wet sounds of oil and excitement, sharp and breathless cries of delight as hard nipples pebbled and ached between skilled fingers.

The strangled sounds in her throat were sinking deeper, becoming a guttural desperation as she pounded into Madeleine’s opened passage. Their joined bodies filled the room with percussive, ecstatic noise, broken voices climbing over ragged breath to make a melody of frenzied, ravishing desire. Words gasped from Madeleine with every deep plunge, unbroken chants of _yes_ and _fuck me, harder_ and _fuck yes._

“I can’t, Madeleine,” the Arisen groaned helplessly. The pressure in her shaft was rising towards breaking point, beyond her to hold back any longer. “ _Fuck_ , Madeleine, I can’t, not more—,”

“More,” Madeleine echoed her plaintive sound, fumbling to grab one of the hands at her breast and dragging it down between her thighs instead.

The counter bit into the back of her wrist but she found the pinpoint of Madeleine’s pleasure, working it frantically as her hips lost any rhythm and began to buck, animal and greedy for the pleasure crashing into her system. The tight sleeve holding her cock pulsed, tightened to nearly unbearable. The climax that seized them both felt wrested like a prize, Madeleine’s whole body shuddering beneath the Arisen as they echoed each other in cries. The eruption flooding her veins left her paralyzed save for her cock, each surge spilling hot streams into the channel clenching so violently around every inch of her shaft. Madeleine’s ass worked her over and over, drawing out all that was left of her spent arousal before finally letting her slip free.

They stayed as they were: bowed over the counter, skin to skin and panting for breath, an age passing before words could begin to form. The Arisen slowly peeled herself off the other woman, pushing herself off the counter to step back and stand free. Dazed and clumsy, she was still gentle in taking a cloth to clean the mess smeared between Madeleine’s reddened cheeks, rewarded with a grateful sigh. Her flaccid cock didn’t even stir as she poured the interventive over it next, wiping herself with another rag and wincing at skin too tender to touch.

“Now that _—,_ ” Madeleine rose off the counter and turned towards her. The merchant’s legs were weak from their efforts, her next step a dangerous wobble.

“Careful!” The Arisen caught her before she could try again, bringing the blonde flush against herself, skin to skin and breast to breast. She was too spent to be aroused, but just the sensation of Madeleine pressed against her was an indulgence worth savoring. The other woman seemed to feel the same, happily settling into her arms and tracing long, slow strokes of her fingertips over naked skin.

“ _That_ ,” Madeleine repeated, voice lazy and sated as she gazed up at the Arisen, “Would be a bargain at any price.”

Smiling, the Arisen couldn’t help herself, “For me or for you?”

“Both.” A rare confession of honesty slipped past Madeleine’s lips before she leaned up to catch the Arisen’s.

They might never agree on anything else in life, but in this they were perfect. In this languid shared embrace, sensuous and selfish but sensitive all at once; here they knew one another and could be exactly what they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the Dragon's Dogma characters, I can't help thinking Madeleine would always be the naughtiest one.
> 
> As always, please let me know if you enjoyed! Opinions, questions comments - I appreciate any and all feedback.


	5. A Hero's Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor tag update, nothing too scandalous.

**A Hero’s Worth**

It was always a mistake to put on boots too soon after bathing. Everything just got damp and started to chafe, even leather. Her toes squelched uncomfortably as she made her way back to the camp. Fortunately, she barely noticed.

“A dragon!” She could hardly keep from dancing up the path, ecstatic. Her tunic was wet as well, clinging all around her torso because she’d been too excited to dry off properly. And her trousers—!

“A real, shit-you-not fire breathing dragon!” She grabbed Rhiannon, shaking the pawn just a little to find some spark that might match her own elation.

“Drake.” Rhiannon was, as ever, immune. The flatness of her voice recalled a patient mother dealing with her careless child.

“Wings and scales and flames, Rhia!” The Arisen released her pawn and spread her hands wide to the sky, daring heaven itself to deny her. “It was a dragon. A dragon and we killed it!”

“Drake,” Rhiannon repeated, lips quirking with something akin to amusement. The pawn had seen her master in any number of moods these past two months; she’d never seen joy. It looked . . . exhausting, really. 

The Arisen sprang up the trail to the rest camp, racing ahead and then doubling back to spin around Rhia and the other pawns, gloating all the while. The soldiers standing guard watched her quizzically, but they’d seen her arrive laden with the horn and scales of dragonkin; not one of them would dare say a word out of turn. Even Reynard, who had some passing experience with the Arisen, had been stunned speechless when she and her companions emptied their satchels into a pile of fearsome prizes.

“Are you hungry, Arisen?” One of the other pawns opened his haversack and began rummaging. This particular warrior hadn’t traveled with them long and was ill-used to the fancies of their master, particularly her bark of laughter at his ignorance.

“Hungry? Who could eat now?! I feel like I could trek for weeks on a single water skin!” The Arisen tossed her armor into one of the empty tents, a crazed glint in her eye half convincing Rhiannon she might try to do exactly as she said.

“’Tis hobgoblin territory ahead. We agreed it best to wait for dawn,” she reminded her master, hoping logic could reach some shred of her senses. In this state it was hard to know.

“Hobgoblins,” the Arisen scoffed, scrutinizing the woods ahead like a hunter spying prey. “We can take them in a few turns. I’d bet you that fancy gem we just found that I can go from here to the Shadow Fort with only a dagger!”

_Bloody hell._ Rhiannon couldn’t remember ever swearing before meeting this woman, now it came as easily as the breath she didn’t need. It took a few quick paces and one very smooth sidestep to cut off the Arisen’s path to the woods, blocking her in the road without actually appearing to try.

“And what of our escort?” While knowing nothing of innuendo Rhia had learned just enough to keep her voice low, to dart her eyes towards a specific closed tent while pretending not to look. The Arisen faltered, glancing the same way and immediately losing some of the swagger in her stride.

“I-uh, I hadn’t thought of that,” her master admitted, the bravado of a hero dropping away to reveal the chastened woman beneath.

Such extremes with this one! From fears as dark as the Everfall to glories bright and high as summer solstice. Each new mood was like a puzzle to be solved. The redness now tingeing her cheeks was a particular mystery that Rhia had yet to understand. But she had swiftly learned how to use it.

“Perhaps you might check on her?” She suggested innocently, watching the other two pawns out of the corner of her eye and silently daring them to interfere. Fellows of the rift or not, she’d set them alight with full Comestion if they so much as sneezed right now.

“You’re right, I should.” The Arisen nodded excitedly, ready to rush for the knight’s tent before realizing there was still an audience. She absently smoothed her damp tunic, straightening it like armor and squaring her shoulders to meet Rhiannon’s carefully neutral gaze. Her voice was calmer when she spoke again, imitating the command of soldiers, “I’ll confer with Ser Mercedes. She might have been unsettled by our encounter with the dragon.”

“Drake,” Rhia muttered beneath her breath but said no more, smirking as she watched her master hurry away.

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

The Arisen forced herself to hold still after calling to Ser Mercedes through the tent. A nervous desire to fidget twitched in her fingers and toes but she scolded her whole body into obedience. Just the anticipation of hearing that exotic accent could make her veins thrum so!

They had sojourned for two days now, but not once had she dared to gain access to the formidable knight’s personal space. It was wiser to wait for some sign of invitation; to be sure she was welcome rather than risk a blade at her throat. Unfortunately this left her frustrated, as not once since beginning this journey had Mercedes even hinted at wanting her company. Perhaps that afternoon in the Encampment was just a rare stroke of luck, a happy accident never to be repeated.

“You may enter.” Mercedes finally gave permission and the Arisen ducked under the closed flap, turning to secure the ties behind herself. The knight had proven repeatedly that she valued privacy above all else.

Knowing as much, it was rather shocking to now find the other woman naked save for a towel. The edges of decency began just at the upper edge of her breasts and ended scarcely below narrow hips. Any greeting died on the Arisen’s tongue, captivated by the sight.

Mercedes hadn’t even turned to greet her, concentrating instead on a basin of steaming water and the dripping wash cloth in one hand. With meticulous precision she dipped the fabric, soaked it long enough to cascade droplets when she drew it out again, ran it up her raised arm and down the underside to just barely graze the side of one breast. Across the top of her wrapped cleavage the rag left a trail of liquid beads, each catching the flickering lamplight to become a jewel that dotted her skin.

Half a dozen different apologies collided in the Arisen’s mind, pressed to be the first on her tongue. From a simple _sorry_ and _I can come back later_ to the more panicked _I didn’t know, please don’t kill me._ She bit them all back, wits racing just craftily enough ahead to hold her first, startled instinct at bay.

She’d been invited in. While Mercedes was bathing. Dressed in naught but a towel as soft and white as her signature mantle, she’d given the Arisen permission to enter. Was this a test? Or a game?

“You could’ve joined us in the lake. The water wasn’t so terribly cold.” The Arisen strolled idly along the far edge of the tent, trying to keep her eyes from greedily licking over every delectable inch of long, naked limbs.

She was lying of course; the lake was named Hardship for good reason. It was colder than stone at winter’s midnight. The icy water had stung so badly she thought her nipples might turn inside out, never mind other, equally sensitive parts.

“The temperature wasn’t my concern.” Mercedes shrugged, never once breaking her smooth rhythm with the bathing cloth. Douse, squeeze, drag over tanned skin, leaving a wake of glistening droplets and gooseflesh. If she felt the Arisen’s eyes she said nothing, continuing in the most casual of tones, “However, I do not care to bathe in saurian piss.”

“Blood mostly,” the Arisen absently corrected. “We routed their nest before getting in the lake. But the pawns insisted on taking turns to keep watch anyway.”

“Diligent guardians.” There was clear approval in Mercedes’ slight nod. She was bending over now, reaching to wash one lifted foot without even a waver in her balance. “But bodyguards are seldom good bathing attendants.”

There was something in that casual judgement, a voice of experience that plucked at the Arisen’s instincts and pulled her closer. It was easy to forget this dauntless knight was a woman raised at court, a royal with servants for every task. Perhaps that was why she was unperturbed by an audience now? Perhaps that was why she’d invited the Arisen in at all . . .

“Do you need a hand?” Before the thought could finish forming in her mind, it was already past her lips. It would’ve been followed by an impressive string of profanity were she not desperately holding her breath.

“I do not,” Mercedes rejected the offer as easily as a bad plan of attack. There was no sign that she heard the dejected exhalation behind her. At least, not until the Arisen started to leave and a tease that was nearly laughter called her back, “But I would enjoy yours just the same.”

“You torture me on purpose,” the Arisen chided, a forced scowl fighting the smile on her lips and woefully failing. Particularly when Mercedes turned and there was such amusement sparkling in her eyes.

“Victory isn’t sweet unless there’s a battle, no?” The knight extended her hand, offering up the soaked cloth like a trophy.

Crowns had been claimed with less silence and gravity than the Arisen accepting that prize. It was warm in her grip, quickly filling her palm with perfumed water that trickled down her wrist. For a long moment she studied the wash cloth like some mysterious, dangerous treasure. Then she looked up to see Mercedes watching her, one eyebrow arched in that trademark expression that turned challenge to seduction.

“Is that what I’ve been doing these last two days? Battling with you?” It wouldn’t be all that surprising. For as easily as they could talk of monsters and wars, heroes and home, there was a constant thread of tension. A feeling of things unsaid not just lurking at the edges, but sharpening weapons and donning arms.

“You? No.” There was that catch in her breath again, a huff too regal to be laughter. Mercedes didn’t move and yet she felt closer, just within reach. Her long fingers wrapped around the Arisen’s hand, guided her to bring the sodden cloth along one shoulder, up the side of her neck and cradle there. Slate grey eyes fluttered shut, leaned into the caress with a too-long stifled sigh, “I have been the one battling myself.”

In another place, with a different woman, that confession would have been all the blessing she needed. With anyone else she would’ve instantly given into the temptation, lunged forward, answered swift and bold with her own mirrored longing. But there was a power in Mercedes, something fearsome and beautiful that kept her still. It made her move slowly when she dragged the cloth down Mercedes’ throat, over bone, into the valley between her breasts to rest at the edge of the towel.

“Did you win?” The Arisen forced her eyes up from where her fingers lay— atop soft curves that rose and fell more and more quickly—to find parted lips already waiting for her.

“Most definitely.” Triumph and surrender surged forward, Mercedes claiming her in a kiss that was tender and broken but hungry all the same.

Nothing else touched. Just lips and the sliver of fingers holding that washcloth against her skin while wordless persuasions grew heated. Each eloquent caress of the mouth against hers made the Arisen’s hand unconsciously squeeze, wringing out water that sopped down between them. The bath sheet wrapped around Mercedes’ torso was beginning to soak, to grow heavy against the strain of breasts as her breath grew ragged in their kiss.

“I believe, Arisen,” Mercedes pulled away, playful but determined. Her fingers toyed deliberately with the weak knot barely holding her towel in place, voice low and thick, slowing her accent to little more than a decadent purr, “You offered me a hand, yes?”

Eyes dark as thunderstorms never lost the Arisen’s gaze. Even when Mercedes turned away, watching her over one shoulder while a flick of her wrist let fluffy, white fabric cascade to the ground.

_Holy bloody Maker—_ “Yes,” she managed to pummel a word out of the graveled moan in her chest. From head to toe the woman before her was a work of art, sculpted in sharp angles and flowing lines. Hard from years of battle and smooth as a polished blade.

The forgotten cloth in the Arisen’s hand was nearly bone dry from being clutched so tight, dribbling a small puddle by her feet. Reaching past Mercedes—close enough to deliberately brush a long caress at her waist—she doused that fabric in the basin again. It quickly saturated, growing full and heavy before the Arisen lifted it to glide reverently over one shoulder blade. The warm touch sent a shiver through Mercedes that was better than any enemy’s fall.

Wicked thoughts spread as rapidly as the excitement rushing through her veins, grateful the other woman couldn’t see the sinful plan turning her lips to a smile. Down one side of Mercedes’ spine she washed; along her ribs, into the dip of a narrow waist to the top of one slender hip, reversing to meander back up again with agonized purpose. She repeated on the other side, learning each small quake and quickened breath. Moving with the patience and awe of pilgrimage she didn’t dare let herself linger, lest her fingers begin charting those sinuous planes.

Steam rose from Mercedes everywhere the water touched. With it a fragrance climbed into the air—something exotic and sweet that made the Arisen breathe deep, taking more into her lungs to hold for a sigh. Her lips followed the cloth in an exquisite journey down the spine, planting light kisses and tickling nips, licking up the perfumed droplets that mingled floral and salty on her tongue. Goosebumps and a quick gasp answered her mouth at the small of Mercedes’ back, a tremor that echoed the rivulets trickling over her skin. 

Crouching to bathe down one willowy leg the Arisen winced, breeches tightening even more around her groin. A painful pulse punished the movement, her length already full and heavy but trapped hard behind chafing leathers. She’d forgotten they were soggy until just now. Wet clothes were so much more _binding_.

Smooth skin was a welcome distraction, her free fingers mirroring the cloth as it traveled. Both hands traced a strong thigh, caressed the back of her knee, gently massaged a firm calf before inching up the inside of her leg. Brushing the juncture of her thighs made Mercedes’ breath stutter, caught with anticipation before muttering complaint when the Arisen allowed only a feathery hint of contact, purposely moving on. It was an exquisite torture, dragging desire to the brink of deadly, but she bit into her lip, determined to finish.

With Mercedes’ back and legs glistening damp in the lamplight the Arisen rose back up. Around one hip she dragged the dripping cloth, rested it against flat muscle, relished the feel of that chiseled stomach tightening like iron beneath her touch. Mercedes started to lean back but abruptly pulled away, stiffening in her arms.

“Your tunic is wet.” A hoarse complaint explained her sudden shiver.

_That’s not all._ The Arisen bit back her cheeky response. This didn't seem a moment for humor. More importantly: the molten desire roiling in her belly was threatening to seize control of her voice. Any words would only tangle with want, twist into nothing but a helpless sound of need.

In silence she quickly stripped her top, throwing it aside and distractedly noting the squelch when it hit the floor. Even in the steam-laden air of the tent goosebumps instantly chased over her bare flesh, pebbling her nipples to taut peaks as she pulled Mercedes’ warmth against her. The knight gave in willingly, letting soft breasts mold to her back, easing into the Arisen’s embrace until they were completely flush skin-to-skin.

“Better?” The question rasped in her throat, stung on lips that had begun blazing a trail up Mercedes’ neck.

“Perfect.” A languid purr answered the caress of her mouth as much as the question. Short, tousled hair tickled the Arisen’s cheek, rested back against her shoulder with a moan of pure invitation.

Water trickled from her fingertips, dripped down the cleft of Mercedes’ stomach beneath the washcloth and hands that explored higher inch by inch. Under each breast, around the sides, through the valley between before spiraling towards tender, stiffening tips. A light squeeze of her nipples was the final crack in Mercedes’ patience.

Quick fingers tore the cloth away, tossed it to the washbasin with a horrific splash. Strong hands covered the Arisen’s, forced her past these delicate attentions. That tightening grip filled her palms with rounded breasts, pressed her fingertips harder against straining peaks with silent demand. Understanding surged through her, quick and white-hot as the bolt of excitement that answered Mercedes’ deep groan. They were well beyond any games of seduction. The woman arching against her didn’t want to be toyed with, she wanted to be _taken._

A firm touch encircled her wrist, guided the Arisen down clenching muscles to the flushed and sodden folds between spread thighs. With her other hand Mercedes reached up to her, tangled in strands of still-damp hair and drew her to an ardent kiss. Her mouth was hot and eager, urgent as the nectar that coated the Arisen’s fingers the moment she dipped in. Arousal, slick and luxurious, greeted her in needy welcome. She could lose herself in that wetness, slide through over and over in time with the roll of Mercedes’ hips working against her hand.

A sharp nip at her lower lip made silent threat, warned her to focus. The soothing tongue that followed erased any sting, darted into her mouth, promising more to come. There was no sound so carnal, so unforgettably divine as the muffled cry that passed between their kiss when she finally sank two fingers into Mercedes’ wanting core.

The ravishing knight arched eagerly into her hand, fluttering inner muscles greedily taking her as deep as she could reach. From this angle her fingers were strained, caught short by a knuckle or more. But she stretched, ignoring the hitch in her wrist when she grazed that swollen patch on the front wall that made Mercedes’ hips rock forward. Forward and back. The Arisen grunted, a feverish punch doubling in her gut at the feel of her lover’s ass grinding against her in time with the rhythm of her strokes.

“Yes, Arisen, _juste comme_ _ça._ ” Mercedes’ native tongue flowed off her lips, whispered between breathless kisses.

Fingers used to a sword were still wrapped around the Arisen’s wrist, blunt nails etching crescent marks. In the ache of that grasp, in the spasms and twitches, she learned the cues of Mercedes’ rising excitement. Twisting strokes made silken muscles ripple and grasp. Curling fingers caught a moan in Mercedes’ chest that vibrated through them both. Hooking hard into the front wall made her buck, breaking their kisses to pant against the Arisen’s mouth.

“ _Juste là, ne t'arrête pas._ _Plus—si proche!_ ” She didn’t have to understand Mercedes’ broken, rasping words to know what they meant. _Close._

Their rhythm fell out of time, becoming urgent, animal. Fingernails dug into her scalp, into her skin, clung to her with the ferocity of a battle about to turn. The Arisen redoubled her grip, holding Mercedes’ slippery body close to her own while her fingers worked mercilessly inside her molten core, plundering every tremor and moan. A cascade of quakes began fluttering around her knuckles, bearing down too tight to move. Instead she plunged in as far as she could reach, pressing hard and grinding the heel of her palm up to catch the sensitive, hard nub in Mercedes’ soft folds. That final touch pushed her past the breaking point, tensing in the Arisen’s arms as a rush of ecstasy unfurled through her being, left her shuddering in its wake.

Some vague instinct whispered not to stop, kept her fingers buried deep, brought her other hand down to shimmy between palm and flesh and stroke the stiff bud that twitched so heavily beneath her touch. She could feel the last waves of climax receding from Mercedes’ spent muscles and she caught the edge, teased it back, drew quick circles and flicks that pushed her arousal back to fresh heights.

“Arisen,” Mercedes’ moan was nearly anguished, writhing in her grasp in a way that made it impossible not to answer in kind. “ _Pas plus, je ne peux pas—_ I-I can’t.”

“You can.” The Arisen was positive, coaxing her with light kisses and ever more rapid fingers swiping over her aching clit. “Another, Mercedes. I can feel it in you.”

Fingernails bit into the Arisen’s skin, pierced sharp under an unbreakable grip. Mercedes moved helplessly against her, spine bowing, thrusting forward to meet the pressure between her thighs and instinctively rocking back. Every press of that lithe body grinding against her pelvis made her hips jerk in answer, throbbing arousal trapped but still building.

One fumbling hand drew the Arisen’s lips back down, found her mouth in a deep, messy kiss. Rising gasps were trapped between them, each one faster and sharper than the last until the knight in her arms suddenly went taut as a bowstring, breath trapped in her lungs. Release rolled through her with a ravaged groan, stole the air from them both, poured tremulous over her tongue onto the Arisen’s waiting lips.

Her own body answered in a violent shudder, yanking choked noises like pain from her gut with each selfish spasm of her hips. Confined inside tight breeches her climax had nowhere to spill but over her own length, smearing hot and sticky between leather and flesh, echoing the lust that ran down her fingers as she held Mercedes through that second, perfect peak.

A sheen of fragrant water mingled with glistening sweat everywhere skin met skin, blurring the lines of where she ended and Mercedes began. Stillness unfurled around them, spread like a fog to fill the tent, created a secret wall that held all else at bay for just the two of them to savor this moment, gather their senses. She felt warmth against her cheek, Mercedes’ brow turning to rest against her like a lover curling close to sleep. Hands that had been clutching so fiercely at her began to loosen, an apology of fingertips lightly grazing fresh bruises.

For all the intriguing contradictions she’d learned of Mercedes these past few days—savagely disciplined, shamelessly modest, irresistibly untouchable—the exotic knight was never simpler than in this embrace. No inscrutable glances or guarded words; no weapons or shields to battle. She _let_ herself be held. The Arisen was being allowed this intimate comfort not because of need or weakness, but simple contentment. Somehow, in their short time together, she had earned Mercedes’ trust.

“ _Maintenant._ ” The foreign word rolled thickly off Mercedes’ tongue, rousing in the Arisen’s arms towards some purpose. “I should like to return the favor.”

“You don’t have to.” Thank the Maker Mercedes couldn’t see the blush that crept up her cheeks. How was she to explain? How could she admit that something as simple as _feeling_ the other woman’s pleasure had taken her over the edge? Admittedly, she couldn’t imagine a single man under heaven that might endure the press of Mercedes’ body in the throes of passion without succumbing as well. Even the thought of it was enough to make her insides twist and stir again.

“Perhaps not. But right now, Arisen?” Mercedes turned around without breaking free from her arms. They stayed pressed flesh to flesh and she smirked at a fluttering catch in the Arisen’s breath, “I think it is _you_ that needs a hand, no?”

A coy dart of her eyes glanced down between them, lingered on the sodden breeches still containing a definite swell. _Shit._ There was no biting back her chagrin. Between the soaked material and faintly twitching bulge, the front of her leathers was positively obscene. But when Mercedes’ gaze lifted back up she looked undisturbed. Perhaps, even . . . pleased? If she truly did want to return the favor—

“I’ll get the washcloth.” The Arisen started to move but strong hands caught her at the belt, held her firmly in place. Nimble fingers were already unclasping her buckle, undoing all the ties.

“I won’t need it.” That simple verdict, resonant with command, ended any objection. The blade metal glint in Mercedes’ eyes dared the Arisen to look away, to so much as _blink,_ while she sank slowly to her knees.

Sensuous lips explored down the line of her stomach, nipped at ticklish spots that made her gasp, dipped into her navel before moving deliberately lower. Mercedes peeled back the sticky mess of her breeches, freed her frustrated cock to the relief of sultry air. Eased but eager, her shaft stood like a ready spear, angled dangerously towards the temptation of a thrust. White residue from her climax streaked the thick length from tip to base, smeared the front of her hips and thighs.

For a split second Mercedes’s expression turned feral, a smile dangerous as it was seductive vanishing when she kissed bare skin. Shudders and twitches wreaked havoc through the Arisen, following every caress of the mouth bathing her. Mercedes began cleaning the mess with such ease—almost certainty—and the Arisen felt a bolt of jealousy stab through the desire in her gut. There was a confidence in the way those teasing lips worked all around but never too close to her shaft, thoroughly gathered every trace of spent lust on her tongue.

“Y-you’ve done this befo- _ohh--_ before?” The Arisen couldn’t hold back her question, not even when her breath got caught on the feel of long fingers tracing the vein that ran the length of her cock.

“No,” Mercedes replied simply, studying the hard flesh in her hand, squeezing lightly to feel the heavy pulse that answered.

Before she could form the next question the feel of warm tongue at the base of her cock stole her wind. That slippery, moist muscle dragged all the way up to her tip, ended in a decadent swirl that nearly brought the Arisen to her knees. It was only grabbing hold of Mercedes’ shoulders, bracing with all her might, that managed to keep her upright.

She had imagined such an indulgence, of course. Particularly since her evening with Madeleine, she had wondered what other new and intoxicating sensations this part of her might explore. Even toyed with the idea of asking some of the streetwalkers for stories. But she never— _not once_ —thought it might be like this. Not with Ser Mercedes Marten, Knight of Hearthstone, kneeling before her and laving every inch of her cock with long strokes and wet sounds. _Maker,_ just looking down and seeing her; a world of bare skin, ravished lips and flushed cheeks!

“So beautiful.” She didn’t even feel her raw voice whispering free, a sigh nearly silent in awe. Still Mercedes heard, her eyes lifting to catch the Arisen’s and answering with a seductive hum that ravished the needy shaft throbbing against her tongue.

Not a trace of creamy lust stained her skin anymore. All that graced her was a light sheen of sweat and the wetness left behind by Mercedes’ mouth exploring her thick length. Each bead of arousal that pearled on her tip vanished in the next skillful swipe of tongue, coming quicker and quicker until Mercedes abandoned the rest of her cock and simply took that weeping head between her lips.

“Mercedes!” The guttural cry rose from right in her depths, from the knot of desire that made her stomach buckle and clench. Words fled the bite of her jaw with every gasp: Mercedes’ name interlaced with prayers, promises, profanity and pleas.

Moist heat engulfed the tip of her shaft, a slippery and clever tongue twirling all around, lashing at the spot on the underside that made her curse faster, louder every time. She could feel Mercedes moaning around her cock; a throaty vibration that filled her whole mouth, surged up the Arisen’s length to stoke the pressure in her base already threatening to burst.

Strong fingers held her tight when she instinctively rocked forward. Sharp nails sank hard into the flesh of her hips and ass, a command as much as warning. No matter their position, this moment wasn’t hers to control.

“Fuck, Maker, _Maker,_ ” the Arisen panted, fumbling one hand into short hair, cradling the back of Mercedes’ head as gently as she could. If only it were her on her knees, flat on her back, prostrate and helpless as the surging desperation made her feel. “ _Ohshit_ , Merce _-fuck-Mercedes!_ ”

With the merciless greed of a deathblow, Mercedes sealed her lips and drew hard, sucking the pleasure from her like a babe nursing its mother dry. Paralyzed in the knight’s unbreakable grip all she could do was curl forward, groaning, clutching at the other woman while the tide of her peak washed through every fiber and vein.

The waves receding from her senses mirrored the cadence of Mercedes’ mouth, milking her through the final, trickling spills of release. A lewd, slick sound accompanied her cock finally slipping free; echoed by the smaller, intimate noises of Mercedes kissing her way back upward. She drew the Arisen’s body to rest fully against her, sharing warmth and breath and rhythm until they matched in one sated embrace.

Mercedes’ skin was silken beneath the Arisen’s lips, scented with that same perfume that filled her lungs for a deep, languorous sigh. Light kisses explored a smooth shoulder, crept up to find the tender spot beneath one ear that made her shiver deliciously in the Arisen’s arms. Lips against her own neck replied in kind, harder and hotter, branding her for all to see. The thrill of conquest was so much grander when a staked flag marked your claim.

“If you never—,” the Arisen hesitated, struggling with the question when Mercedes’ mouth found the weak spot on her throat and made her shudder. Her tongue stung when she tried to moisten her lips, gathered what few words her coarse voice would allow, “Where did you—how did you know?”

She might’ve wrestled with her own fumbling thoughts far longer if a delicate roll of laughter didn’t make her stop. Mercedes leaned back, bemused by her terrible attempt to hide such obvious suspicions.

“You cannot spend your entire life in the company of men, as I have,” she paused knowingly, watching the Arisen fail to mask a jealous scowl before ending her torture with another purr of laughter, “Without overhearing some very useful things.”

“Very useful,” the Arisen agreed in relief.

A niggle of hypocrisy chided her for even trying to ask, for caring what happened before or after these shared intimacies. It was drowned out by the relish of knowing Mercedes had singled her out for such favor. That glowing thought was warm beneath her ribs, bright in her smile when she leaned in to more thoroughly show her appreciation.

Mercedes met her in a lazy kiss, content to linger in tender luxuries and idly roaming hands. Cooling skin left the Arisen aware of the cling at her thighs, the stickiness of her opened breeches. She reluctantly broke away to look down, sizing the scope of the mess.

“I guess I’ll need to have Rhia fetch me a change of clothes,” she sighed. Exasperated as she was by her own weakness, there was no arguing with the outcome. Particularly when Mercedes traced a finger under her chin to lift her attention upwards again, revealing a wicked smile full of ideas.

“Or,” Mercedes leaned in and caught her lower lip, tugging it gently before letting go with a purr, “You could have the pawns take these things back to the lake for a wash.”

“That,” the Arisen quivered slightly at the feel of a warm touch grazing down her back, resting like fire at the base of her spine. Another hand stroked her cheek, brushed a thumb over her mouth to coax free her all-too-eager surrender, “That would take them quite some time.”

“I daresay we’ll use it well.” Mercedes gloated in her victory, pulling the Arisen back in for a hungry kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: thanks for taking the time to read, hope you enjoyed! Please share your thoughts and feedback, it keeps me motivated. Thanks to all of you who've been following and commenting already, I appreciate it.
> 
> On a side note to fellow DD gamers: I have a mental cast in place for most of these characters, but I struggle to think of a RL actress for the role of Mercedes. Any thoughts?


	6. Come to Court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real sex in this one, sorry! Plot had to sneak in as setup for what's ahead. So if you're here for PWP, reread the past chapters while I get busy on the next.

**Come to Court**

Why would they keep massive crates at the top of a staircase? You’d think even the halfwits entrusted with guarding the Duke’s Demesne would’ve figured out it was a perfect place to hide. The Arisen crouched low behind them now, listening for the sound of heavy boots on pavers. The guards were due to make their rounds soon.

Who keeps their wife in a tower, for that matter? Let alone a tower isolated above the sea! There was only one way to or from the Duchess’ chambers: a long stone bridge that soared above the crashing surf below. Really, it was something of a surprise to find out the poor woman wasn’t trapped there under lock and key. It was like a terrible story parents would tell their children. Bad parents.

She strained to pick up the random noises from below, trying to catch any murmur of voices approaching. It was hard to hear over the rush of blood that kept pounding in her ears. She didn’t even have a heart! How could her pulse be racing so quickly? It had to be the thrill of suspense, knowing if she got caught on the castle grounds after dark she’d be thrown in the dungeon. Not a pleasant prospect; she’d visited those cells twice already. Once to save a friend from Cassardis who’d been wrongly imprisoned. The second time was for less noble reasons. But the look on Feste’s face when she dangled him over the tower ledge, the way his stubby little legs kicked and flailed! That was a memory that could keep her warm on any dungeon floor. A number of others seemed to enjoy it too, given how long it took for anyone to come stop her.

That had been worth a night’s stay in the cells. But now she couldn’t afford to get caught; not tonight. Her stomach churned on itself, too anxious to touch a morsel of food since meeting with the Duchess’ handmaiden the night before. Why the hell was she so nervous? She’d raced onto a beach to face the great dragon! She crawled up a hydra’s neck! She’d damn near single-handedly liberated the Shadow Fort from a goblin horde with not one or two, but _three_ cyclops pets! And _now_ she was sweating like a soldier with no sword? What the ever-loving hell?!

_It’s just a visit._ She scolded back more clamorous thoughts, clenched her hands into fists to stop fidgeting. _With a friend._ A female friend. A female friend that happened to be very attractive—beautiful, really, in an angelic sort of way—but that didn’t matter! They were just two friends, going to have a visit _. In the middle of the night._ A frustrated puff of air passed her lips, unable to answer that final accusation.

Maker, no wonder Rhiannon had given her that look again when she left the inn. Being stupid, _that_ the pawn was used to; but suicidal? This was a whole new level of madness, even for her. Yet no number of arguments could dissuade her. None of the countless objections all her companions threw at her even gave her pause. There were a score of ways this could go wrong, a hundred risks that could bring her to ruin; but there was one—and only one—reason to go ahead and damn the rest.

A memory of gentle blue eyes lighting up like dawn filled her mind, made her pulse stutter and skip. She’d never seen sadness so deep, or felt so invincible as when she made Aelinore smile. Whatever happened tonight, _she_ was worth it. Which sounded utterly crazy, even in her own head. How had this woman captivated her so completely in so short a time?

_The rage scalding her insides raced through every vein, set fire to her nerves, filled her mouth with the taste of blood from biting so hard to hold back words. The prank was annoying in itself; she should’ve known better than to let the strange little jester have his way. To be the punchline of his joke stung her pride. Then the way Mercedes had looked away, pained on her behalf but unable to offer warning or aid—that hurt deeper. But that was merely a sadness, an ache beneath her ribs like she’d been bruised. They were both helpless against the whims of this vain and fickle court. **That**_ _was what made her so violently angry._

_These useless aristocrats were more interested in their own preening and games than the world that was being crushed to ruin outside the city gates. They knew nothing of the people of Gransys, cared nothing for the monsters despoiling every corner of the Duchy. A dragon sat king atop the Tainted Mountain, refugees flooded Gran Soren every day; but Duke Edmun the Dragonsbane slouched lazily in his throne, draped in finery and jewels and the drooling praise of nobles at his side. At least Ser Mercedes had come from afar to raise and lead an army. That other knight—Madeleine’s suspicious friend—even he stood apart from the selfish, fawning lackeys, scowling at their short-sighted intrigues._

_Ignoring their laughter she had kept silent, bowed down as was expected. Bitterness had already begin to burn in her stomach, bile rising while Edmun had the gall—the sheer arrogance—to make her a member of the Wyrm Hunt. As if she needed his bloody permission to face the dragon! As if **anyone**_ _other than her was destined for that singular battle. That heavy crown must have dulled his senses, or perhaps the long years had faded his memory of what it meant to be Arisen. If that utter ass had ever truly known._

_Her fury took her stomping back and forth across the castle grounds, ended her at the edge of the northern gardens. Unconsciously she flared her nostrils, recognizing the soothing fragrance of sunbright and loneflower. Lovely and peaceful as they were, the familiar blooms themselves couldn’t stop her mental tirade or the constant flow of curses muttering beneath her breath. No, that halted abruptly when she realized someone else was in the garden as well._

_The petite blonde was far too richly dressed to be a gardener, but she was kneeling by the flowers, tending each one in turn and—if the Arisen strained hard enough to listen—murmuring to them in a quiet voice. A white orchid in particular held her attention, a fragile thing that looked to be the sole survivor in one flower bed._

_“You mustn’t give up, little one. It’s hard, I know, but you won’t always be alone . . .”_

_The Arisen listened in fascination as the blonde spoke to the blossom, affectionately comforting it in the tones of a mother. Involved in that intimate conversation her back remained turned away from the garden entrance, unaware of any audience. For a few moments the Arisen allowed herself the luxury of simply watching, intrigued by the sight of a noblewoman that seemed to prefer nature over the rest of her kind._

_“I’ll be here for you, I promise, if you’ll just be here for me too.” There was such a profound sadness under her words, hesitations that might have been nearly tears. Any attempt at cheer in her voice sounded hollow, “We’ll be safe, you’ll see. We’ll be happy.”_

_The choke on that final promise twisted at the emptiness in the Arisen’s chest, pulled her forward without thought. Her boots scuffed gravel, the noise of scattering pebbles loud as a hailstorm in that fragile calm. The blonde jerked to her feet, spinning around in startled surprise and her mouth already parted to cry out._

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude!” The Arisen rushed to apologize, holding up her hands and trying to seem as harmless as possible. A little difficult with the amount of weaponry she carried, but the other woman somehow saw past it, mouth slowly closing without having made a sound._

_The noblewoman regarded her for several long seconds, studying her with excruciating care before a new and brighter expression brought color to her face. There was a hitch in her breath, then another, then the stifled silences gave way to sound: a giggle that became pure laughter._

_“My, my. Apologies, dear warrior!” With effort she managed to bridle her mirth, quieting to small titters between her attempts to speak. “But to see a face as austere as the castle walls adorned with—This!”_

_Realization dawned on the Arisen the instant one delicate finger reached up and playfully tapped her headdress. The jester’s cap. In her rage she’d forgotten to even take the damn thing off! She snatched it from her head, mortified. In the heat climbing up her cheeks she couldn’t decide if she needed to explain the horrible joke and try to prove she wasn’t a fool, or just go find that miniature devil and kill him on the spot._

_“Still,” the other woman continued, growing more serious but with genuine kindness in her tone, “’Tis more agreeable than the endlessly dour air of most of my husband’s sworn swords. Valor dwells in the heart after all.”_

If they have a heart. _The Arisen stayed silent, nervous that interrupting these pensive reflections might end this strange but captivating encounter._

_“The brave ought not need their raiment to speak for them, no?” The lady looked away, sadness creeping towards her eyes once more._

_“You’re right.” The Arisen hurried to catch her attention, to draw her back from whatever depths threatened to pull her down. “I think bravery shows more clearly in a smile than it ever could in armor.”_

_Her words had exactly the effect she desired, bringing a spark of light to the wide blue eyes that came back to her. Deep as oceans, the color of that gaze; promising as the endless horizon._

_“Dear warrior of the lovely helm.” There was no laughter in her voice now, just the warmth of a gentle gratitude. “I fear I am remiss in asking your name, ser.”_

_Her name. The Arisen hesitated. It seemed such a long time since anyone had asked. Since anyone had cared to know. And now the name given her at birth felt so very far away, such a long time ago. Cassardis was a different life, and in it she was a different person._

_“Most simply call me ‘Arisen.’” She artfully evaded the question, the complications of trying to sort out an answer that felt true._

_“’Arisen?’” The lady repeated her title, tasting it on her tongue like a foreign food. Then she realized she was being watched, an immediate tint of redness blooming up her cheeks. She rushed to fill the awkward pause, “You must forgive me. I fear I am grossly ignorant in matters of war. I had thought all who fought shared the title ‘warrior.’”_

_An innocent enough assumption, and correct in its own misguided way. It confirmed what the Arisen had already suspected: this was a woman that lived amidst power, but had no authority of her own._

_“By that same reason I could argue that every lady in the court should be known as a courtesan.” It was a dangerous jest, not just standing on the edge of insult but dancing and shouting challenge. In whatever came next she would discover the exact nature and character of the noblewoman before her._

_The sudden burst of laughter was all she needed to know. Just as quickly as it started the blonde forced herself back under control, one bashful hand covering her mouth until she could contain the fading giggles._

_“But again, you must excuse me,” she cleared her throat to subdue any further, unladylike outbursts. But the merriment was still dazzling in her blues eyes as she dropped a small curtsy, “I am Aelinore, come just a few days past as bride to the Duke.”_

_“The Duke.” A taste like ash filled the Arisen’s mouth when she repeated the title, dry and bitter._

_“I pray you will serve my lord husband faithfully, ser warrior,” Aelinore confirmed with a nod, gaze drifting down once more in a way that bespoke something helpless. In the emptiness beneath her words was a trace of apology, the ache of regret._

_“The wife of Duke Edmun.” The Arisen was still struggling to accept that this angelic, tender beauty was wed to the selfish and beastly man she’d just met. Still, she couldn’t bear to let the weight of her own disappointment add any burdens to a woman that clearly carried so many of her own. Gathering her senses she took refuge in the roguish smirk that had become her trademark defense, “Does that make you Her Grace? Or just Milady?”_

_The Duchess’ eyes came back to her, widened with surprise and brightening into a smile, “Aelinore would be honor enough from you. Or,” a hint of teeth nervously worried one coral lip, “In my home I was simply Aelin. I would be glad to hear such familiarity again.”_

_“Aelin,” the Arisen rolled the name in her mouth, felt it like a purr, imagined whispering it softly in a gentle embrace. A vision of rampant blonde hair and parted lips shocked her back to her senses, flush and chastened. They’d only just met! She was another man’s wife! An utter bastard, yes, but still a husband._

_The sincere pleasure in Aelinore’s face didn’t make restraint any easier. She looked up at the Arisen with a fondness that threatened to become irresistible. Without thinking the Arisen found herself leaning towards her, inches apart and no hint that either of them wanted to stop, wondering just what would happen if . . ._

_“I presume the crown you bear is a mark of your station as the Arisen?” Aelinore pulled back first, taking a step away and trying to mask the quicker pace of her breath. She had donned a formal tone, something regal that matched the higher tilt of her chin. Nervous fingers picked at imaginary bits of thread on her dress. “I must apologize for my laughter, good ser. I assure you I meant no disrespect.”_

_“Never apologize for being happy.” The Arisen shook her head, also stepping back in hopes it might clear her muddled wits. “Laughter is a gift in these troubled times, even if it was at my expense.”_

_Aelinore started to object, lips parting for some impassioned argument. Before she could interrupt, the Arisen swiftly continued,_

_“I’d wear this foolish jest every day if it made the world a merry place again.” She fiddled with the mocking crown, briefly wishing it could be that simple._

_Her pride was a cheap price if it meant others could forget their pain. A wistful sigh fought the invisible weight on her shoulders, knowing life would never be so easy. But at least she’d made it better, for just one person for a little while. It would be wonderful to think she could do it again. With that sudden thought she held out her hand, making an impulsive offering of the ridiculous hat,_

_“I can’t be here to wear it all times. But, perhaps if you have it, the memory will be enough to make you smile?” Nervous hope kept her completely still, a statue of doubtful expectation._

_“You would gift me your crown, dear warrior?” It was impossible for those cerulean eyes to get any wider, staring up at her as if a priceless jewel rested in her open palm and not some terrible jape. Aelinore delicately took it the prize, clutched it to her chest with both hands, “You are far too kind. I shall cherish it.”_

_“Then perhaps when I return it can be your turn to wear it, and my turn to laugh.” The Arisen flashed a cheeky grin, feeling light and invincible in the glow of Aelinore’s resplendent smile. Unspoken beneath her humor was a question, a desire she couldn’t voice. Without any words she still dared to ask: could they meet again?_

_Aelinore dipped her head, shy and nervous as she walked past the Arisen to leave. She paused just when they were shoulder to shoulder, a few fingers eloquently touching the very edge of her hand. Crystal blue eyes shone like the glory of sunrise when she looked up,_

_“I shall pray for your safe travels, ser.” The answer came back to her just as silently, laced beneath what was said. Travel safely. . . and return. No trace of hesitation held back Aelinore’s smile, beaming with the promise of that future delight._

Metal on stone roused the Arisen from her recollections, the sound of boots bringing her fully back to the task at hand. The guards were finally making their rounds. Bloody lazy bastards, she’d expected them ages ago! Maker, her legs were stiff from kneeling behind these crates so long. But she’d be free to move soon. They’d pass by and she’d finally be able to get up, to sneak across the bridge and enter the Duchess’ private chambers. _No, that sounds like a terrible innuendo._ Her bedroom— _too intimate._ Boudoir— _hell no._ Room! She was going to visit Aelinore in her _room,_ dammit!

The voices of two guards climbed up the staircase, drawing near.

“Think the Duke’s bedded that pretty new wife of his yet?” The crass question was followed by an equally vulgar bark of laughter.

“He _has_ been concerned with more important matters of late. There’s a dragon, remember?” The second guard sounded younger and a trifle more respectful. Or at least, just smart enough not to gossip about their masters in a massive, echoing tower.

“Bullshit!” Another laugh, wet and graveled. “If the world were ending I’d spend every last hour plowing that ripe, little—”

“Did you hear something?” The younger guard abruptly interrupted him, nervously looking around.

They were at the top of the stairs now, close enough that she could see their shadows right in front of the crates. Close enough that the smarter man must have heard her biting her own fist to keep from jumping out and tearing that asshole apart. No wonder Aelinore felt so alone and helpless in this place.

“You’re just jumpy,” Shit-For-Brains-Gonna-Die (As the Arisen had named him—or ‘Shit’ for short) dismissed his partner’s concern and mercifully turned to go back downstairs before she could do anything stupid.

“I could’ve sworn . . .” The other one, the one she liked and promised mentally not to kill, lingered hesitantly near her hiding place just a few more seconds. Then he sighed and jogged to catch up with Shit, heading back down the tower.

“Probably not worth it anyway,” crude laughter still rose to violate her ears. “She’s cute enough to look at, but I’d bet you a month’s wage: that one’s colder than a well-digger’s ass.”

_If only you knew . . ._ The Arisen relished a secret smile.

_In the weeks since first being granted entry to the Duke’s Demesne she became more driven than ever; finishing each task Aldous gave her with nearly reckless speed. Or so Rhiannon kept saying every time they skirted death’s grasp. There was a nonstop litany of worried lectures and tired sighs in her ear, Rhia constantly threatening to not heal her anymore if she kept being so rash._

_It didn’t matter. Each duty she finished meant returning with a report, meant going back to Aldous to take on new tasks. Each reason to enter those castle gates was an opportunity—a scant, sliver of a chance—to see Aelinore again. She’d wandered these gardens at least half a dozen times by now. Always telling herself it didn’t matter; suffocating the hope in her chest that searched for a familiar flash of blonde hair, fighting the ache of disappointment when the only gold to find was flowers._

_The small stone rotunda in the middle of the Duchess’ garden had become a familiar refuge. She sat beneath its shelter, watching the heavy rain that fell like a curtain on every side. Another visit to court, another assignment from Aldous. A stolen ring this time, ooooooh, how vital! How crucial to slaying a dragon—recovering some bauble of the Duke’s! More barbed words from that nasty little clown, stinging like nettles no matter how she tried to ignore him. But still no sign of Aelinore._

_Resting her head against a stone pillar she let the familiar sound of rain offer her solace. Back in Cassardis she’d lain in bed on stormy days, listened to the showers pelting her roof and simply drifted above her own thoughts like a boat at sea. How far from that simple past she was now, dragged by the dictates of this confused fate, estranged even from herself. She’d become a heartbeat in a dragon’s chest, a future waiting to be defined in the eyes of everyone that watched her. They silently waited to witness her rise or fall._

_“You are here! I feared I’d miss you!” A relieved and breathless voice broke out of the rain, rushed into the gazebo to her side. Aelinore pushed back her hood to reveal a smile of pure delight._

_“Aelin,” the Arisen stared up in disbelief. A cascade of water dripping off the Duchess’ sodden cloak rallied her senses and she started to rise, “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”_

_A hand on her shoulder kept her from getting up. The touch was light as a feather but held her like a command. Aelinore settled on the ground beside her, still beaming happily. Cold stone might have been a velvet pillow for all she seemed to care._

_“You’ve been here so often, Mirabelle has told me.” Tender thanks interwove with an apology in her eyes. “I wanted to join you. Every time. But I feared us being seen together in the open.”_

_What a volume of truth was in such a few sentences! These visits hadn’t been wasted, she hadn’t been wrong all this time. She hadn’t been tricked by foolish hope and imagination. There was something here. Something . . .dangerous? The way Aelinore’s eyes darted nervously towards the castle plucked at her instincts, made the hair on the back of her neck rise._

_“Is it safe for you to be here?” The Arisen studied glowing windows above them, wondered if they’d always looked so menacing._

_“For now.” Aelinore took her hand, gingerly handling the heavy glove that armed her fist. Her smile was undaunted by any feeling of danger, “Rain and shadow will keep secrets that others needn’t know.”_

_“Am I a secret?” The word burned like poison on her tongue, crept through her veins with a chill. Was it because secrets were something shameful? Or because they always ended with someone getting hurt?_

_“No, dear warrior.” Aelinore seemed to know her doubts, shaking her head to reject them all. A graceful touch plucked the gauntlet off her hand, allowing their fingers to interlace. “You are a treasure. But I fear treasures can cause jealousy and greed.”_

_“So you’re protecting me?” The Arisen cocked one skeptical brow, teasing._

_“I’m being greedy.” The swift reply was just as playful, but the strength of iron rested beneath her light words. There was an adamant certainty to Aelinore’s tone, an answer that had been determined long before the question would be asked._

_The intensity of her gaze matched the fierce clasp of her hand, clutching like a lifeline. The Arisen studied their interwoven fingers, a puzzle she was beginning to unlock. Aelinore’s voice lured her attention back upwards,_

_“That was you, wasn’t it?” A tilt of her chin gestured towards the white orchid flower bed. Where once there had only been one, now half a dozen of the delicate blooms swayed in the rain’s misty winds._

_“I tried to find a few each time I traveled,” she shrugged as if it were nothing._

_As if white orchids didn’t **only** manage to grow in the lands of snow harpies and direwolves. As if Rhiannon didn’t think she’d lost her mind when she insisted on keeping them in the flasks filled with healing spring water so they’d survive the journey back. For every flower she managed to bring back alive, three or four others died. Beautiful and fragile things, she felt both sad and grateful when she planted each one in its new home._

_“I love them. Each day that I found another I knew it was you.” Aelinore’s other hand covered their joined fingers, doubling the affectionate warmth of her grip._

_“Glad you were thinking of me.” The Arisen could only duck her head a little, trying to hide the inordinate swell of pride and pleasure that rose from such simple praise._

_“I have thought of little else.” That quiet confession contained an entire ocean of feeling that welled in her eyes, a storm more ferocious than what rained around them. The blonde quickly looked away before emotion threatened to spill over. A shaking sigh gave her some semblance of voice again, forcing herself to be proper, “I often envy you. You must find so many amazing things, traveling freely as you do.”_

_“Amazing things,” the Arisen shook her head, chuckling, “Amazing things that want to kill me. Amazing ways to nearly die. Amazingly rude thugs, bandits and rogues.”_

_“I still think it must be wonderful.” Aelinore refused to be swayed, a playful defiance making her face brighten. “Anything outside these bleak and confining walls would be worth the risks.”_

_“Anything? Aelin, there are cyclops and goblins, ogres that specifically prey on women!” Hadn’t that just been an exciting fact to discover?!_

_“Here there are brutish guards and nobles every bit as depraved,” Aelinore argued back. She had a quick tongue, and truths that had been stored up in frustrated silence were finding vent._

_“I’ve had to fight enemies I can’t even see, phantasms that turn my own companions against me.” The Arisen switched tactics, determined she wasn’t going to lose this debate._

_“At court that’s called life,” Aelinore actually scoffed—scoffed!—at the idea. “It’s gossip and rumors that bring ruin, words that can kill without lifting a blade.”_

_“Somewhere out there is a giant, multi-headed, poisonous, man-eating hydra!” That thing had frightened her more than the dragon, honestly. The way the heads just kept growing back . . .!_

_“In here is a two-faced, toxic, sniveling little snake of a man that enjoys the Duke’s protection because he makes him laugh.” The sheer vitriol in Aelinore’s tone took the Arisen aback._

_“I forgot about Feste,” she admitted, sighing in defeat. Just the thought of the horrid jester made her lips curl in disgust._

_“He delights in making my life a misery,” Aelinore groaned, echoing her distaste. “He thinks it the height of hilarity to pinch me whenever near, makes constant japes and innuendos about the marital consummation! I half expect he intends to be in the room when it happens!”_

_“It hasn’t?” The Arisen’s mind jerked to a sudden stop, struck by that single slip of fact._

_Aelinore didn’t even notice, caught in her own angry tirade and continuing to list offenses, “He gossips to the court that I’ll never bear children. That I’m too waifish and must be sickly. That my hips are too narrow, my breasts too small—”_

_She halted abruptly, realizing what she’d said and already beginning to blush crimson. It probably went against royal upbringing to talk about breasts let alone draw attention to them. As she inadvertently had done. Two sets of eyes instinctively darted down, one mortified, the other far too pleased._

_“Feste’s not just a fool, he’s a bloody madman,” the Arisen decided firmly, letting her gaze linger just long enough to make a point. “They look perfect to me.”_

_“And you’re an expert on such things, are you?” Aelinore was still blushing redder than roses, but there was no denying the hint of delight creeping through her embarrassed tone._

_“I’ve seen my share.” She hedged her way around the question, deciding it would be wise not to offer detail. If just the mention of breasts could cause her such discomfit, Maker, the Arisen’s past would probably set her aflame._

_“You’ve seen naked women,” Aelinore prodded, easily surmising what was left unsaid. Rather than becoming horrified there was a curious expression in her eyes, a glint of fascination._

_“A few,” the Arisen nodded slowly. Many, actually, since Cassardis women weren’t particularly shy when it came to water. But there was an intensity hanging on her words, an intrigue in Aelinore’s face that confessed they weren’t talking about bathing or the sea._

_“Bedded them?” A brow quirked up, daring her to deny the assumption._

_“Yes,” the Arisen nodded, scouring Aelinore’s face for any hint of shock or disgust._

_She could’ve lied of course, or only answered with half the truth. After all, it had been a very long time she’d felt the luxury of an actual bed for any intimacies. A soldier’s thin cot was the softest surface she’d known during the occasional pleasure these past months. Tables, counters, walls, apparently anything at hand that was hardy enough to withstand the abuse of greedy passions._

_“How?” Aelinore’s breathless question caught them both by surprise. She looked away, briefly tensed as if she might have to flee. Her voice was thin, nearly a whisper when she forced herself to continue, “How would you make love to—,” she turned back to the Arisen now, teeth savaging one lower lip as she struggled with the words, “To a woman?”_

_To **me.**_ _The darkening swirl of desire in her eyes spoke for her, asked what she truly wanted to know._

_“Slowly,” the Arisen licked her lips, dry from a sudden desert of scorched nerves. “With every sense.”_

_“Tell me,” Aelinore pleaded as much with her gaze as her lips. Bottomless depths swallowed all but a rim of cobalt blue, drawing her in._

_“I’d explore with my fingertips first, touch every inch of skin to find each perfect, tender place. Every shiver. Every sigh.” Unconsciously, her thumb glided softly over Aelin’s fingers in her hand,_

_“Then with my mouth I’d want to kiss, to taste the rising warmth and feel a racing pulse against my lips.” She could see that urgent heartbeat throbbing along the pale column of Aelin’s throat,_

_“I’d listen for catches of breath, the small stutters that become gasps, can be coaxed into moans. Watch the beautiful play of desires taking control; eyes fluttering, fingers curling, lips parting.” Just as Aelin’s were now, mouth open over shallowing breath and fighting to keep her eyes fixed on the Arisen, drinking in every word,_

_“The scent is unforgettable. Heady and exciting because it means want, means need that I can answer, pleasure I can give.” She could almost smell it now, taste it on the back of her tongue, feel it hot and wet between her own thighs._

_“Would you speak?” Aelinore’s fingers laced with her own were clenched so tight she was nearly quivering. Voice cracking with tremors in every vein._

_“I would try,” she admitted, throat already thick with lust that slowed every sound. “When I become overwhelmed it’s so much harder to remember anything else, to control what comes from my mouth. But so long as I had my words?” She could feel Aelinore pressing close against her, clinging to every promise, breath caught, suspended but reaching, “I wouldn’t just speak, Aelin, I would worship.”_

_“Oh, Maker,” Aelinore groaned against the Arisen’s shoulder, burying her face to muffle the helpless gasp that echoed her sudden, violent shudder._

_With every fiber of her being, every shred of straining will, the Arisen forced herself to hold completely still. To not gather the petite woman in her arms, or take her in a kiss. To not think about what might have—must have—just happened. To not (dear lord, Maker in heaven PLEASE NOT) let the aching pit of desire in her belly twist loose and spill free. As Aelinore’s shivers were ceasing, it felt like her own body was threatening to shake apart._

_“I-I’m so sorry,” Aelinore stammered, refusing to lift her eyes. “I don’t know what happened.”_

_“Sorry?” The Arisen repeated in surprise, shock dousing the worst of her arousal back to a bearable pulse._

_She tried to tilt to see the other woman’s face, still hidden against her. Truthfully, she should be the one apologizing. She saw the signs, knew she was pushing Aelinore right to the edge. She just hadn’t thought it possible to tip over without the touch of anything but their interlaced hands._

_“I fear I have used you terribly.” Aelinore’s ragged breath had slowed, turned to something that was nearly a sob, “I had no idea—!”_

_“No, Aelin,” she firmly interrupted that path to shame. “Don’t apologize, not with me and definitely not for that.”_

_“You’re not offended?” The blonde finally dared to tip her head back a bit, just enough for their eyes to meet._

_“Offended!” The Arisen couldn’t hold back her burst of laughter. “How could I ever?!”_

_Hell, she was trying not to gloat in the triumph of having ravished this woman so completely with nothing but words! Her answer seemed to work the magic of reassuring Aelinore that nothing was wrong. Doubts finally erased, she relaxed back against the Arisen’s shoulder, curling even closer._

_“I fear I have much to learn,” Aelinore mused, toying with random straps and clasps on armor._

_“I’m always learning. That’s part of the fun.” The Arisen grinned. She wrapped an arm around slender shoulders, letting them both rest just a little more comfortably against the rotunda wall._

_“A princess of Meloire is not raised to believe in such kinds of ‘fun.’” The word rolled on her tongue like a slur, her entire tone mocking the imperious sound of nobility. “I was prepared for my wedding with a dowry, a trousseau, and a warning to only do that which my husband finds pleasing.”_

_“Fuck,” the profanity forced out on an angry exhalation. She tightened her grip around Aelinore, wishing there were weapons to fight memory. “You must have been terrified.”_

_“I was. I have been ever since I arrived. The first moment I felt even a glimmer of peace was when I met you.” Aelinore sighed deeply, gratefully, as if the very smell of metal and leather now made her feel safe._

_“I’m sorry, Aelin.” Sorry she had suffered this whole time. Sorry she was raised with such stifling lies, forced to live in a land she didn’t know, wed to a man she didn’t love. “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?”_

Tell me to kill the bastard. _One grim idea crept through her mind. He was an arisen, so he’d be hard to take down, but she’d dearly love the permission to try. Or, if not free her from the marriage, she could at least take her elsewhere. Help her find a place where she could be safe. Somewhere white orchids would grow. For a lifetime, for a day, just to grant her a taste of the freedom she longed for. Maker, she’d battled her way through a thousand bandits and beasts all so entitled nobles could enjoy a safe roadway or some panoramic view. Couldn’t she at least provide a day of happiness for a woman who deserved it?_

_“Talk to me.” Aelinore’s simple request was as innocent as children asking for a story._

_“Sorry?” The Arisen had to shake away all her other vengeful, impulsive thoughts, convinced she hadn’t heard correctly. Everyone else she’d met always had some need, some demand for daring rescues, brutal exterminations, rare goods and prizes that cost their worth in blood._

_“Talk to me,” Aelinore repeated, oblivious to the fact that she was the first person to ask such a thing of the famed and fearless Arisen._

_“About what?” Now she wished the blonde had asked for something easier—like a cloak made from griffon feathers. Or a trained Chimera to keep as pet. It had been so long since she’d tried to do something simple!_

_“I told you: I have thought of only you these passing days. But I know nothing of who you are.” Aelinore leaned back to take in the Arisen’s face, laughing lightly at the bewildered crease of her brow. One elegant finger reached up to lightly brush the line away, lingering in retreat to grace her cheek with another touch, “So tell me, sweet warrior, what sort of child were you? What sort of woman now? Who is the hero you fight to become and what would you want to be?”_

_For longer than she dared to count, the Arisen simply stared down in wonder. Those huge blue eyes were alight with an eager thrill, ready to consume anything she would offer, every last horror and hope in her soul. Hesitant, nervous of every word, the Arisen began to unwind the stories of her life. Aelinore rested back against her shoulder, cuddling innocently as a babe, tender as a lover. The thundering rain gave clandestine peace as adventures and mistakes gave way to futures and promises, whiling away the hours._

If tonight was naught but that same pleasure again, talking and sharing and baring a piece of soul for the other to take, the Arisen would be content all the same. She stole across the bridge, sidling quickly to the heavy door and knocking. Then she realized that was a damn fool thing to do on a secret midnight rendezvous and simply went in. Aelinore was at the windows across her chamber, a silhouette haloed in moonlight. The thud of the closing door pulled her around, face immediately radiant.

“My warrior has come for me!” She all but laughed, rushing across the room. Near to throwing herself into the Arisen’s arms, she suddenly stopped short a few feet away. Doubt crept into her expression, eyes dropping away in fearful worry, “You must think me a shameless harlot.”

“There is nothing shameful about you, Aelin,” the Arisen shook her head, using one finger to tilt that downturned chin back up. “I think I would kill anyone who dared say such words against you.”

She didn’t admit how close she’d come to doing exactly that mere minutes before. Aelinore took her hand, clasping it tight in both her own, gazing up at her with a warmth of affection that could make men into gods.

“Would that words could prove my love is pure.” Even as Aelinore lamented the helplessness of words, that one— _love—_ made the Arisen’s breath catch, drew her closer.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” The thrill racing through her veins was faster than any beat, stronger than a heart could be.

Aelinore was leaning towards her, ready to be held, eyes and lips confessing the same promise over and over again. Love. She loved her. The Arisen was just reaching to pull her close, to savor this perfect moment that was more than she’d dared let herself hope. 

That was the moment everything went wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended on a cliffhanger, I know, but don't want to spoil too much story for some of the first-time players!  
> The first flashback is basically canon with my twist, the second is pure invention. Just didn't like the idea of anyone falling in love after only ONE meeting. Aelinore might seem a bit OoC, but I'm hoping not unbelievable. 
> 
> As always, let me know any thoughts and reviews! Really appreciate those of you taking the time to comment.


	7. Thick as Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a bit darker than anything else I've done thus far. I tried to tag accordingly, but if anyone has suggestions for other labels to add please let me know.

**Thick as Thieves**

Rushing footsteps chased Mercedes, brought her around in a sudden spin with hand already on her sword. Only the sight of the Duchess of this land chasing after her kept the weapon in its sheath. The blonde noblewoman was at the edge of breathless, trying not to gasp from the effort of racing across the castle grounds.

“Your Grace?” Mercedes eyed her curiously. Since coming to Gran Soren she’d only seen the woman a handful of times. And certainly never so . . . enlivened.

“Ser Mercedes, forgive me accosting you this way.” After a few more deep breaths Aelinore managed to compose herself. Her practiced, regal bearing nearly succeeded in masking the urgency of her question, “Your duties have made you acquaintance with the Arisen, have they not?”

“I know her.” Mercedes gave a terse nod, carefully schooling all thought from her expression.

She’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone in the castle had. It almost seemed like the Duke himself _wanted_ people to know. Wanted it to be heard that the Arisen had presumed to invade his wife’s bedchamber, that he’d rescued the Duchess from some scandalous assault and thrown that degenerate peasant into the dungeons.

Mercedes would readily admit that she didn’t know the Arisen as others might. She didn’t know her past or her secrets, her loves and fears. But she knew the warrior, the woman pummeling herself into the shape of a hero. She _knew_ —would vow it on her very life—the Arisen hadn’t done any of the things that spiteful gossip claimed. And she knew she was right because the Duchess herself was standing before her, begging word on that selfsame matter.

“Have you any report of her travels? How she fares?” Aelinore’s eyes danced between nervously flickering away and staring at her with woeful, all-consuming intensity. Her lower lip looked to have suffered to the point of bleeding, caught once more in the pierce of worrisome teeth. “Is-is she well? Safe?”

Now there was no question in her mind how the Arisen had come to be in the Duchess’ bedchamber. A hint of surprise, perhaps, but definitely not doubt. Damn that reckless woman and her charms! A royal affair could destroy any kingdom just as swiftly as the great dragon! Not that Mercedes could entirely blame her such impulses. Since arriving at the castle to be wed, this lovely blonde had caught the attention of every man and a fair share of women. 

“Last word was that Aldous tasked her with recovering the Wyrmking Ring. It’s been stolen by a rogue mage that took refuge atop the Bluemoon Tower.” Mercedes had enough experience at court to understand the easiest lies were always hidden in truth. She couldn’t answer all of the Duchess’ anxious questions, and didn’t dare speak her own suspicions.

“Is it dangerous?” Those wide blue eyes fastened on her like a death grip, not even daring to breathe.

Dangerous? The tower lay behind hard country, torn by gale winds and filled with bandits. All manner of beasts had been spied haunting those ruins; griffons, ogres, living bones and even a wyvern at times. To say nothing of the criminal mage Salomet and his lunatic ambitions.

“Nothing the Arisen cannot handle.” Mercedes reassured with a nod of confidence. At least that wasn’t any sort of lie. From the day she’d seen that mad woman scale the hydra’s back, she had a certainty nothing would fell her. Nothing, except perhaps . . .

“Thank you,” Aelinore let out a deep, grateful sigh, hand resting on her chest as if to calm the thundering pulse within. “It gives me great relief to hear such word.”

“You are—,” Mercedes paused, wondering if she might not be presuming too much. Hell with it. Battles were lost in hesitation and so she pushed ahead, “You’re fond of the Arisen, Your Grace?”

A flush instantly colored Aelinore’s cheeks, offering eloquent enough reply without need of actual words. To her credit she didn’t look away from Mercedes’ careful scrutiny, didn’t betray any hint of shame.

“I owe her a terrible debt,” the Duchess shook her head, both hands now resting over her heart to contain the sadness welling in her eyes. “One I fear I may never have chance to repay.”

Just what had happened that night? Mercedes studied the innocent, young woman so miserable before her. Any reports she’d been able to gather on the Arisen in these past few weeks had made for fearful worry. None in Gran Soren had seen her since she fled the Duke’s prison cell. A trail of blood followed every whisper of her name, left the bodies of men and monsters alike as brutal carnage in her wake. Whatever anguish chased the Arisen to such terrible lengths, it could only match the grief that streaked a tear down Aelinore’s face.

“She’ll forgive you.” A gut instinct spoke for Mercedes before she’d even realized her own thought. A glimmer of hope shone in bruised blue eyes, shimmering only a moment before vanishing again.

“That’s good of you to say, Ser,” Aelinore’s head dipped low, refusing solace. “But I don’t dare to think it possible.”

“The Arisen is a woman of many gifts,” Mercedes coaxed the Duchess’ eyes upward once more. Gifts indeed. Perhaps a few that even the famously pure Lady Aelinore had enjoyed? She shook the salacious thought away, unworthy of this somber exchange. “She is a powerful fighter, fierce and fearless. I’d have one of her over a hundred of my enlisted men. She has proven a force to be reckoned with on any field of battle.”

“So I’ve heard tell.” The swiftness of Aelinore’s reply suggested this wasn’t her first time inquiring after the famed warrior. The stories others must have told her!

“But her greatest strength isn’t in might, or even courage.” _Or even being damn fool stubborn, though that definitely helps._ Mercedes waited until she saw the question forming in Aelinore’s eyes before she continued, “I believe the Arisen is unbreakable because she has pure will of heart.”

Even if there was no beat in her chest, Mercedes saw a sincere, generous passion in everything the Arisen did and it could be called nothing less. From early on word had drifted across Gransys; stories and reports, wondered thanks and shocked praise. Again and again the Arisen left off her own personal mission to help others, to rescue anyone in distress whose need reached her ear, to give until there might be nothing left to keep for herself, and then find just a little bit more to offer. With her own eyes Mercedes had seen the woman put herself in the line of terrible blows, all to protect pawns that could be called back from the rift as easily as waking from sleep! Such loyalty couldn’t be learned or bought, only born.

“She’ll forgive you,” Mercedes confirmed again, more certain than ever. “She does not give her friendship lightly, and she’ll not see it broken this side of the grave.”

“Yes, friendship,” the word rested uneasily on Aelinore’s tongue when she repeated it, hollow and fading. Perhaps sensing her mask had slipped the Duchess straightened herself, becoming prim and regal once more, “Thank you, Ser Mercedes, for sharing such knowledge with me. I am grateful for your indulgence.”

“At your service, Your Grace.” Mercedes offered a slight bow, allowing the other woman to leave with all needed airs and dignity.

Watching her retreat, Mercedes couldn’t help but wonder if the Arisen even knew this consequence to her absence. The woman she’d come to know wouldn’t bear letting another be in such pain. Particularly not someone that had obviously come to think of her as very dear. Whatever relationship had blossomed between the Duchess and Arisen, it was definitely not so simple as a passing acquaintance or innocent camaraderie.

That being the case, she was doubly glad she’d skirted the edge of truth in discussing the Arisen’s whereabouts. Her task was at Bluemoon Tower, that much was true. But last reports had placed her far west of that path. On the road to the ruins of Heavenspeak Fort, and an infamous gang of female bandits.

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

“Dammit, Hero! That’s the fifth time you’ve brought beasts to our very gates!” A furious roar stormed ahead of Ophis into the ruined section of fortress that served as her chamber. The leader of the Westron Labrys Bandits stalked across the room, towering over the Arisen while Rhia quietly dressed her injuries.

“That shit hurts!” The Arisen scowled at her pawn, wincing at the press of a poultice to her arm’s gaping wound.

“It’s also poisoned.” Rhia ignored her complaint and kept the medicant soaked rag firmly against her squirming bicep. “Either it stings a short time now, or aches forever after we have to cut your arm off.”

“You enjoy this,” the Arisen growled, grabbing for the jug of wine on the table and pouring herself a glass.

“You want me to,” Rhiannon demurred with practiced ease, tying off the bandage. Neither of them had so much as looked up at Ophis’ angry entrance.

“Are you listening to me?!” The bandit demanded, knocking the glass of wine from her hand. It scattered across the floor, spilling out and staining stones like blood.

“I heard you! Monsters at the gate, whoa and peril!” The Arisen rolled her eyes, finally looking up at the other woman with an impatient sigh, “I killed them, didn’t I? Just like I do every time?”

“And every time you lure those Maker-forsaken creatures to our stronghold my women grow fearful. They begin to wonder why we take refuge under the shadow of the Tainted Mountain and the dragon beyond.” Ophis’ flailing fist encompassed everything beyond these fortified ruins, the world of terror that dwelled just beyond the walls.

“Then maybe they shouldn’t be here.” The Arisen grabbed the jug of wine and took a deep draft from its wide lip. “Don’t keep women that don’t have the stomach for this life.”

“They come here to escape the men who’ve ruined their homes, their lives. They join me to have freedom and safety.” Ophis leaned down, forcing the Arisen to meet her fury from mere inches away. “I don’t _‘keep’_ anyone.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She met that snapping challenge without flinching, arched one mocking brow to match her smirk.

“Get out.” Ophis never took her eyes off the Arisen, though her words went straight to Rhiannon.

“Master?” Rhia glanced between them, calculating how long it might take to grab up a weapon and fight.

“Do what she says.” The Arisen just nodded without looking her way. The war of wills in that heated glare might be enough to crack another opening in the rift.

The pawn left all the medicines and supplies behind on the table, reluctantly leaving with only a worried glance over one shoulder. Alone in the ruined tower chamber, Ophis gradually eased back from the Arisen but refused to let her eyes escape.

“You have been wreaking destruction from the Canyon to the Greatwall. Hobgoblins, Chimeras, phantasms and wights—they all hunt you back to here. All so you can bathe in blood and glory without care for the cost!” Her fist slammed against the table, sloshing wine from the edge of the jug. There was twice as much threat when her voice grew quiet, “I have tolerated your foolish games. I allowed you refuge here, welcomed you among sisters. But I will not let you put the women who trust me in danger!”

“Maybe they want danger!” The Arisen burst to her feet, forcing Ophis back a pace. “You think these women ran off to become thugs and bandits because they wanted the security of a warm bed at night and full meals?” She spread her arms wide, taking in the crumbling fortress and all who loved its walls. “Haven’t you noticed how many of them come to watch when I fight to protect your precious haven? They gasp and cheer, Ophis, they cling excitedly to their weapons and they get _wet._ ”

“How dare you—!” Ophis’ fist flew before she’d even finished, landing a harsh strike to one cheek. The Arisen staggered briefly from the blow, reaching to touch the sting that enveloped half her face. It was the best thing she’d felt in weeks.

“That’s what I mean!” She laughed, shoving the bandit leader hard enough to make her stumble back. “Who wants the boredom of sanctuary when there’s the heat of battle? The thrill of pain? The moment you kiss the edge of death just to see who’ll fall!”

“You’ve lost your mind, foolish girl,” Ophis spat, stalking forward, both of them circling like fighters in a duel.

“Why? Because I see the hundred ways fear keeps people chained? Your ‘safety’ is just another prison, Ophis.” Her taunt landed sharp and true, a fierce burst of temper pinning the Arisen to the wall with a crack that made her ears ring.

“I gave you my badge of amity, Arisen, a reminder you stay alive in my lands at _my_ pleasure. You had best show respect!” Ophis’ growl came from a pit of rage as deep and dangerous as the Everfall. Fuck, but it shouldn’t make her shudder so eagerly to hear.

The Arisen met Ophis’ steely gaze, unable to move beneath the strength of the grip forcing her against coarse stone though she fought all the same. Sheer defiance set her jaw and she let out another scornful laugh, “Make me.”

That final challenge was flame to a powder keg. The mouth on hers felt like all teeth, jagged and greedy and immediately mingling heat with the coppery taste of blood. She grabbed at the bandit; tugging hair, gripping armor and clawing any bare skin she could find. Bruises and cuts, scars for the stories, that was all she let herself want, all she dared to feel.

“Such a hellcat, Hero,” Ophis’ throaty chuckle mocked the raging of her need, the need of rage. “Why not just ask nicely?”

“Fuck you!” The Arisen spat, forcing the woman back with a burst of her full strength. But she didn’t move forward, didn’t press the advantage. She just stood there, trembling; furious and frustrated in the throes of miseries she couldn’t explain. _Fuck you_ , she thought again. _Fuck me,_ she wanted to scream.

“Now I see,” Ophis nodded slowly, gingerly touching the blood on her lip where the Arisen’s teeth had made claim. “I know what you want.”

“Like hell you do,” the Arisen snapped back. This was a waste of time. Ophis couldn’t give her what she needed. Not if she didn’t even know herself. She started to push forward to leave but strong hands caught her and tossed her back like a doll.

“Strip and face the wall.” Ophis’ tone was hard as the stone in her eyes.

“Why should—,” her protest barely began.

“I said STRIP,” the bandit barked, fierce and loud, lacing every word with absolute command, “And face. The fucking. Wall.”

Reluctantly, the Arisen did what she was told, shucking off armor and clothing with her face scant inches away from ancient stone. Behind her she heard a latch opening, Ophis delving through a chest on the far side of the room before triumphing with a low, diabolical roll of laughter. She couldn’t make sense of the noises that followed, beyond some rustling fabric and the clink of buckles.

“So you want to be punished, Arisen?” Ophis’ taunt landed right in her ear, a hot breath that made her quiver and bite her tongue to hold back any sound. A boot kicked her legs apart, rough fingers parting her folds without warning. The bandit woman’s snarl made her stomach lurch and knees weak, “Let’s see how much a hero like you can take.”

No and yes both gasped on her tongue at the feel of something pressing into her. Bigger than fingers, thick and long. She hadn’t been ready, inner muscles screaming protest at the sudden invasion that forced her open. A feeling of pure fire followed every inch of the thing Ophis was plunging into her, filling her with the desire to fight, to give in, to just lose herself in something as simple as pain.

“What the hell—?” She tried to look over her shoulder, to see what Ophis was using, but the bandit grabbed her by the hair, forced her back to face the wall and nothing else.

Only when the bandit was fully inside her, hips pressed flush to her ass, could she feel the straps and buckles biting into her skin. Then she knew; remembered from one of Madeleine’s more salacious tales. The “Lady’s Helper” she’d called it. But none of her stories had been like _this_.

“Time to learn some manners, Hero.” Ophis’ graveled threat was dark with relish, sending a vicious chill down her spine.

“Oh holy _fuck_ ,” the Arisen’s groan bled into a whimper at the feel of that thick length pulling out of her, drawing right to the edge before plunging back in and forcing another cry from her throat.

That first thrust set a brutal pace, Ophis slamming into her fast and hard. Sounds she’d never known wrenched past her clenched jaw, echoed up the walls with every violent plunge ravaging her depths.

“Fuck, Ophis, fuck _fuck!_ ” She panted against cold stone, curled her fingers to fists to brace for each coming stroke that hammered into her front wall, demanded her rising excitement like a due.

Her cock swelled painfully, pulsing in time with Ophis’ hips slapping lewdly against her ass. Trapped between her stomach and the chafing wall her sensitive length throbbed and stung. Just like she needed. Just like she deserved.

“Harder.” The Arisen managed to gather enough wits to growl out that harsh demand, daring Ophis to deny her.

“So damn stubborn!” The bandit’s ragged breath stuttered out a laugh between her own wanton sounds, grunting with every buck of hips that drove the toy mercilessly into her pinned prey. Sharp teeth scraped her shoulder and neck, latched on tight enough to leave marks with welling pinpoints of crimson.

An ache like bruises rose in the pit of her belly, dragged her spiraling senses down. Nails raked welts over her skin, pierced old injuries until the metallic notes of blood overpowered any scent of lust in the air. The Arisen didn’t feel them. She couldn’t feel Ophis’ thrusts growing frenzied, didn’t hear the profanity gasped against her ear. Everything turned inward, reached for that knot of pain coiling her insides like the dragon’s claw piercing her chest all over again. _Please, fuck, please, Maker, yes! I need . . ._

Sweet torture bubbled over in her core, rushed through every vein and sinew of her body like a devouring blaze. She arched off the wall, head thrown back to exult in the welcome release. A release that never came. Stopping short at every edge of her being, never more than a decadent hope in her mind, her climax collapsed. Any pleasure fled the greedy strain of her clenching muscles, left her dizzy, shuddering, hollow.

“Shit. Shitshitbloody _fuckinghellshit!_ ” She pounded her fist against the wall, hard enough to feel the blow in her bones.

“You do have a way with words.” Ophis’ sated chuckle rasped against her skin.

The bandit planted a brief kiss to her shoulder, apologizing for new wounds, before pulling away. That sudden emptiness only made the void in her being worse and the Arisen spun around, glowering furiously at the other woman. How dare she be content?

“Is that the best you can do?” She scoffed, cramming every word with all the scorn and challenge she could forge in the heat of bitter rage.

Ophis’ eyes narrowed, hands frozen on the buckles of the toy she’d been about to take off, caught in twin spells of shock and wrath.

“I would’ve thought a fearsome bandit leader capable of more.” The Arisen pushed off the wall, ignoring a myriad twinges and pangs that accompanied every step. She met Ophis eye to eye, just enough taller to make it even better when she sneered, “Perhaps I should’ve joined Maul’s gang after all.”

The sudden hand around her throat choked off any further thought, made her struggle for a single breath. Ophis’ entire face had gone livid, cruel as dragon fire. Instinct made the Arisen grab for the fingers cutting off her wind but she didn’t pull them away, just gripped hard onto that shaking arm and wondered if this wasn’t such a bad way to die. Maybe it was best. For everyone.

“Down.” Ophis’ hissed command was echoed by the drag of her hand, forcing the Arisen to kneel.

On her knees on the stone floor she came face to face with the instrument of Ophis’ exquisite torture. A smooth leather imitation of the Arisen’s own unexpected gift, but thicker and longer, nearly a parody of anything in nature. And glistening with the wet sheen of spent lust. That caught her attention for a moment, surprised to find some part of her body had found release even while she suffered.

So, was the discipline for her defiance having to clean that mess? A trace of a smile danced at the corner of her lips, recalling a situation so very similar, not long ago. The thought of Mercedes kneeling before her filled her mind; full lips taking her cock and erasing everything but the indulgence of that pleasure! She hated the heavy pulse that made her length twitch. Almost as much as she hated herself for loving that memory.

Cursing her weakness the Arisen reached for Ophis, willing to play this next game. The bandit artfully dodged her hands, sidestepping to slip behind her instead.

“Down,” that dark voice repeated. A heavy push on her shoulder made the command clear.

The Arisen dropped forward, resting on her hands and knees, a spike of nerves making their first appearance in the prickle on her skin. The bulbous head of Ophis’s toy was at her entrance again. A fresh taste of blood flooded her mouth, biting her tongue to hold back all but a choked whine as she felt that broad shaft sinking in. Smoother this time, wetter from her body’s betrayal. But somehow piercing even deeper.

Nails dug crescent marks into her hips, held the Arisen in place for the relentless assault that immediately began to pummel her insides. Arms gave way to elbows, dropping her head to her hands on the floor and panting out desperate, ragged cries with every thrust.

“Is this what you want, Hero? This what you like?” Ophis shouted down at her, raging and wild in the throes of a vicious, carnal war.

“Yes!” The Arisen’s cracking surrender rang through the tower. She scrabbled at the stone, fingertips scraping raw to find a grip on something, anything that gave her an anchor in the buffeting waves of pleasure and pain. It hurt like nothing she’d ever known, everything she needed.

“I’ll teach you,” Ophis growled. One hand grabbed her around the throat again, squeezing her air into little more than choked gasps. “Going to make you _remember_.”

Every plunge of that toy into her battered sex echoed off the walls, wet and slapping. The back of her ass was becoming feverish red, stinging from the rapid, frantic smack of hips against her skin. She shook from the strain of holding herself up, to just keep that punishing rhythm from forcing her to the ground. Somehow Ophis felt even bigger filling her this way, the tip of the toy driving so far in that she was certain it was bruising her womb.

“Damn you, I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t walk right.” Ophis’ grunts were getting louder, faster, each one a gut blow. She released the Arisen’s throat and doubled the grip on her ass instead, yanking her back to meet crazed, brutal thrusts, cursing her with every breath, “Not going to be able to take a Maker-fucking _step_ without thinking of me in you, breaking you, shit!”

“Fuck _yes_ ,” the Arisen’s gasping answer fractured, shattering over higher moans and helpless, arching cries. “Yes, Ophis, _harder_. Harder, you bitch! Fuck me. _Break_ me. I want to _fucking die_!”

The truth poured out in an anguished scream, savaged her depths with a confession that twisted all her misery into a burst of relief flooding from her very core. She quaked violently in the surge of her peak, inner muscles fluttering uselessly around the thickness still spreading her impossibly wide. Ophis’ shouting profanity lost meaning, nothing but a strangled roar in her chest when she slammed a final time into the Arisen’s sex and frantically rocked her hips, grinding through a long, shuddering moan of victory.

This time when the toy slid out of her the Arisen didn’t feel as vengeful, as frustrated as before. The ache was still there, though. The emptiness. The sting of wounds in her mind like scars she couldn’t heal, couldn’t flee.

“More,” she panted, crumbling to one side on the floor. White streaks all over the stone were witness to her spent lust, a silent accusation against this selfish affliction.

“What?” Ophis stared down at her, too bewildered even for anger.

The Arisen forced herself up on one spent arm, fresh embers lighting in her veins.

“I said more!” Even the words hurt, raking inside her throat like venom and coals. Her arm was trembling, threatening to give out from the same dire exhaustion that claimed her whole body.

“No.” Ophis shook her head, eyes wide with a disbelief that was nearly horror.

“Come on, do your worst!” The Arisen shouted, trying to summon the insults and challenges that would goad the bandit’s temper back to what she needed. It wasn’t working. She was already stripping off the toy, tossing it aside.

“No,” Ophis repeated her answer, more tenderly than before. She crouched down beside the Arisen, voice and eyes softened with some new understanding, something that looked dangerously close to pity. “I don’t know what regret it is that haunts you, but you’ll not chase such a demon away with pain. I won’t hurt you anymore.”

“Dammit, Ophis! I thought you, of all people—!” She dropped back to the ground, covering her face with both hands, balling her fists into her eyes to block the scorch of tears.

“Foolish hero,” her familiar insult was fond in that softer, scolding tone. Long fingers pried one of the Arisen’s hands from her eyes, held it gently while she spoke, “You thought to take vengeance on yourself. Not all wrongs can be made right in violence. You came to me for punishment.” One cocked eyebrow dared her to deny the charge, smiling when the Arisen wisely stayed silent, “But what you truly need, my friend, is forgiveness.”

With that parting wisdom, Ophis rose. Her heavy red cloak fluttered briefly before being draped over the Arisen’s naked form. The bandit leader left her there, bruised and beaten, broken in her own mind, but reaching towards a clarity she’d not felt in all the days since waking on that dungeon floor.

These wounds she’d been fleeing would only fester and scar. If she was to find any hope of recovery, any way to regain her will to _live_ , she had to start trying to heal. A hint of smile tugged at the corner her lips, thoughts warming happily for the first time in weeks. Thank the Maker, she happened to know a very gifted healer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little outside my comfort zone with this one, so feedback is doubly appreciated! Thanks again to those of you who've been commenting and keeping me inspired.


	8. Talent in Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than usual delay, I wanted to be sure Ao3's email notifications were up and running before I posted. This is a loooooong chapter, folks. Long and angstier (not a word, but should be) than anything else I'll be writing for this story. You've been warned.

**Talent in Bloom**

Of the many towns, encampments and sanctuaries they had visited, Rhiannon had grown partial to the Abbey. Getting there was no easy feat; having to navigate the Wilted Forest with all its thieves and beasts, not mention the constant threat of being caught amongst walking dead if you ventured too late at night. But once inside those walls, it seemed that some rare magic kept the rest of the world at bay.

There was also much to be said for the transformation that came over her master whenever they entered this hallowed ground. Rhia suspected that was less because of any article of faith and more the effect of a particular woman staying there.

“Cos!” Quina happily rushed to greet the Arisen, ignoring the clucks of disapproval from watchful nuns. For every old spinster that scowled suspiciously at such joy, there was always another that smiled fondly with her own memories.

The two embraced more like family than lovers, a lifetime’s friendship nurturing affections that went far beyond the bedroom. Quina wrapped herself in the Arisen’s arms, kissing both cheeks, tousling her hair and laughing like the children they’d once been. For her part the Arisen simply held onto the other woman, hugging her close with the sort of sigh that tried to breathe happiness into her very soul.

“I have so much to tell you! I knew you would find me here.” Quina held her friends’ face in both hands, smile dimming when she saw the lines and shadows etched in these past weeks.

“I can’t believe you stayed. The Falls weren’t all _that_ amazing.” The Arisen put on her best cocky grin. The one Rhia had seen more and more of late. It was a laugh without pleasure, a lie that was always betrayed in her eyes. If even she had grown to recognize this mask, it was impossible Quina didn’t know the same.

“There is solace in prayer, Cos. Not everyone finds peace at the bottom of a bottle or the edge of a fist.” Quina’s gaze was searching her now, seeking past the shields to whatever lay in secret beneath. Rhiannon had watched her master stare down slavering monsters and screaming madmen without so much as flinching, yet under Quina’s anxious scrutiny she had to look away.

“Too bad. Makes for much better stories.” With an awkward chuckle and shrug the Arisen did her best to evade that tender concern.

A long silence followed, Quina’s expression refusing to be amused. Finally the Arisen surrendered, raking one hand through her hair to pull thoughts free. Emotion weakened her voice, made her breath shudder,

“I’ve missed you, Quina. Maker, I can’t even tell you how glad I am to see you now.”

“And I’ve missed you too.” The healer leaned in, resting her forehead against her friend’s. From so close their conversation dropped to whispers. Rhiannon had to still every other sound in her body to strain and hear. Quina’s tone was quiet and somber as breezes in a crypt, “What’s wrong, Cos? What happened?”

“Not here, Quina.” The Arisen’s eyes darted to one side, spying the many sisters who’d lingered in the Abbey courtyard to keep close watch. She nervously wet her lips, barely breathing to plead, “Isn’t there somewhere we can talk?”

If doubt made Quina hesitate, it was only for a moment. She nodded to another building just east of the cathedral, a worn but sturdy timber dwelling.

“That is a rest place for travelers. Go, I’ll seek Mother Clarus’ permission to not be disturbed.” A gentle nudge pushed the Arisen in that direction, urging her away when she was so clearly reluctant to let go.

Rhiannon followed a few paces behind her master, trudging across dark soil to the isolated shelter. It was nigh on sunset and the dimming light did little for the sparse interior, but the beds looked clean and wood already waited in the hearth.

“Are you hungry, Arisen?” Rhia began the ritual she’d performed every night for the past month. All the same questions, always the same reply.

“No. Thanks, Rhia.” The Arisen shook her head.

“Thirsty? There is fresh water nearby.” Not exactly near, but the falls weren’t much of a trek. If she went now she could refill their skins before the ogres began hunting.

“Not now, thank you.” A little more strain in the Arisen’s voice, the effort of being polite starting to show. Which meant she just had one last chance to ask.

“Can I heal your wounds?” Rhia already knew the answer, but every evening she still dared to think it might be different.

“No!” The Arisen didn’t raise her voice, but the warning was louder than any shout. She wiped one hand wearily over her face, glancing to Rhia with a look of apology. Her temper had been much worse of late and Rhiannon regretted each time she pushed her master to that edge.

“Shall I wait outside?” She asked more gently, already moving towards the door. Better to go now than be ordered out when Quina returned. Whatever burden the Arisen had been carrying this long month, it wasn’t for her to hear. But now, with her old and dearest friend, perhaps _now_ she could lighten her load.

“Yes, please.” The Arisen nodded gratefully, turned away to prevent her pawn from seeing any thoughts. Rhiannon closed the door behind herself, catching a last glimpse of the Arisen busying herself in lighting the fire.

The riftstone beside the cathedral was a perfect place to drop her satchels, stretching muscles that weren’t weary. It always looked so satisfying when humans did that. From this position she could watch the Abbey entrance as well as the door to the rest quarters. All night if needed. Though she prayed it wouldn’t take so long for her master to pour out her troubles. Much as she needed the catharsis of sharing her woes, she also desperately needed rest. These past weeks she’d watched the Arisen suffer pains she couldn’t heal, enemies she couldn’t fight. It was taking a toll and she was fading into a shadow of the woman who’d first summoned her by sheer will.

“Thank you.” The feather-light voice surprised her from her musings, not expecting Quina to appear at her side. The healer looked different than when they’d last met. Less troubled and anxiously driven, as if she’d settled on a purpose and found anchor.

“Sorry?” Rhiannon blinked in confusion, realizing she’d been studying the woman instead of paying attention to what she said.

“For getting her here,” Quina clarified, taking one of the pawn’s hands in her own. “I know she thinks she can do all this alone. Maybe she could—maybe she’ll have to,” her voice grew tight with sudden fear, but she forced it back, recovering her smile, “But I am so very glad she has had you all the while.”

“I try,” Rhia shook her head. “I fear I’ve not been much use of late.”

“Trust me, I know just how difficult she can be.” Quina rolled her eyes, exasperation and fondness sparkling alike in shades of sea-green.

“Can you—?” Rhia hesitated, wondering if she was overstepping her master’s wishes. _Damn it all._ Just because the Arisen wanted to be bloody foolish didn’t mean she had to let her succeed! She rummaged in her medicine pouch and pulled out a salve, pressing it into Quina’s hand urgently, “There are injuries she will not let me treat.”

“But why?” Quina looked down in surprise at the poultice and suddenly recognized it. She knew the strength of this ointment, the amount of pain it had to heal; her eyes came back up in sharp accusation, “I thought you were keeping her safe.”

“I cannot save her from herself.” All Rhiannon could offer back was a weary shrug.

The bite in Quina’s expression vanished with a slow exhalation. There was no reason to unleash her angry worry on the wrong target, least of all a helpless pawn. She gave a small but determined nod, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Sister,” Rhia smiled with relief. For the first time since leaving Gran Soren, she felt like she’d finally managed to _do_ something.

“I’m not a sister, Rhiannon,” Quina laughed softly. Her eyes danced with a mischief all her own, the glitter of secrets. “I doubt I shall ever be. And you really need to start spending time with humans other than your master.”

“Why?” Rhia’s brow wrinkled in confusion. Such an idea defied the very nature of her being.

“Because you’ve started smiling the same way she does.” Quina gave her an affectionate wink before walking away.

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

With a crackling fire now taking the chill out of the air, the Arisen quickly began stripping her armor. Gauntlets and bracers clattered to the floor, her chestplate close behind as she rapidly worked through buckles and ties. The leather vest was more stubborn but she forced it open and got to the tunic beneath. The fabric was stuck to her back, felt like it was tearing skin when she yanked it overhead. She scowled at the dark, crusted lines of aged blood and the bright crimson blooms where she’d begun to soak through anew. Every time she fought, every time she _moved_ , the wounds split open, refused to stop weeping. Right, best to get that stuffed away and a fresh one on before—

“Oh, Cos,” Quina’s shocked gasp told her she was too late.

 _Shit, not fast enough._ Looking over her shoulder she saw the healer right in the doorway, one hand covering her mouth in horror.

The dismay in her widened eyes bled into sorrow, shaking her head as she took careful steps closer. Emotion welled like a river to overflowing, tears already staining her cheeks before she grazed even the tips of her fingers against skin. Such a light touch couldn’t possible hurt, not when she was so careful to avoid every ripped and livid gash. Still the Arisen trembled, bit her tongue because the memory stung just as sharply as pain.

“Maker above, what happened to you?” Quina’s demand was strangled by a knot of rage and pity closing her throat.

“I made a mistake, Quina,” the Arisen’s despondent sigh trembled, more terrified of those words than she ever had been of battle. Her body braced for blows, began to shiver from chills worse than cold. A choke of bitterness twisted in her chest, turned any sound to pure anguish, “A terrible, _terrible_ mistake.”

Delicate arms wrapped around her shoulders, careful not to touch any of the bleeding stripes. The scent of flowers and incense enveloped the Arisen, Quina’s thick curls brushing her face as the brunette cradled her, tenderly kissing her cheek.

“You didn’t. I know you didn’t,” she murmured reassurances over and over, coaxing shallow and panicked breath back to a steadier calm. “Tell me, Cos, please. Just tell me.”

That last, shattering whisper of a plea, thick as it was with Quina’s tears, opened the floodgates. After so long festering inside, the Arisen finally let the memory unravel and climb free.

**_Crack!  
_ ** _It was a lick of pure fire tearing over her back. The lashes landed across each other, making ribbons of her skin. Each blow echoed off the dungeon walls, faded to the distance before the next fell._

_“Well now, what have we here?” The guard beating her—Ser Jakob—had a familiar, graveled cackle that taunted her between every stroke. That same shit-for-brains she’d already wanted to kill._

_**Crack!  
**“Friend of the Duchess sneaking up to her chambers for a cup’a tea?” He gloated in her torture, probably hoped to goad some response. He couldn’t possibly know she wasn’t hearing a word he said._

Edmun. . .This isn’t . . . _Aelinore’s terrified voice rang in her ears, coupled with the Duke’s senseless roaring. The look in those massive blue eyes, nothing but sheer panic and the instinct that makes every animal flee death._ This wicked fool—

_**Crack!  
**Another slash of pain, another trickle of warmth oozing down her back in the wake of that explosive heat. Like a dragon’s talon raking through flesh._

_“Must be fine tea, what to come all this way in the dead of the night.” Another wet laugh, the sound of spit hitting a far stone. Even this moron knew better than to do what she’d done. Maker, what had she done?_

Mistook a trifling kindness that I once paid for something more! _That accusation—on top of everything else that had just happened—left her paralyzed, speechless. She’d stared at the Duchess, trying to make sense, trying to understand how she could’ve been so wrong._

_Over and over, the maelstrom in her mind forced her to replay every thought, every word. Had she been blinded by her own desires? Was she really so selfish? Had she thought of nothing other than—_

_“—Refreshment of a different sort?” There was a particularly disgusting relish in Jakob’s voice that made her listen, made her hate. She couldn’t tell if the loathing in her gut was for him or herself anymore. Maybe they were the same._

She invaded my quarters! _A shaking finger pointed right at her like a verdict. There was nothing in Aelinore’s face of the woman she thought she knew. Nothing tender or kind, none of the shy modesty or humble thanks that had been so endearing. Just raw disgust._

_**Crack!  
**The Arisen shuddered gratefully at that next blossom of fire that silenced her thoughts, erased all the noise in a split second of perfect, blacking agony. If he’d just go a little faster. Lazy bastard. If he just wouldn’t leave so much time between one blow and the next . . ._

I was terrified! _That helpless plea hollowed her stomach, sickened at the sight of Aelinore turning to the Duke for comfort. The Duke! After what he’d just done! What could she ever do that was worse than him?! Had she—had she really wanted something that wrong?_

_Her fingers clenched tight enough to bruise around the chains at her torturer’s next beastly snarl, “Like a turn in the sheets with His Grace’s own wife!”_

_**Crack!  
**Another scorching lash. Another sliver of silence in the chaos of her mind. She all but sobbed in thanks for that cruel taste of relief. Even if he was a vile asshole, she might spare his life so long as he didn’t let up. Didn’t leave her suffering._

_“Damn. You’re tougher than you seem . . .” Jokob was starting to sound winded. Come on, come on you shitty lowlife, don’t go soft now!_

Have this villain removed! _Aelinore’s sneer was as arrogant and scornful as every other noble the Arisen had suffered to meet. She had daggers at her sides but was too stunned to reach for them. She was already overcome, had surrendered even before guards burst into the room to drag her away._

**_Crack! Crack! Crack!_ **

_Finally, mercifully, the void spiraled open. She sank into its depths willingly, grateful, with nothing in her mind but a prayer that this could be her end._

_“Maybe there’s aught to this Arisen business after all.” The last, fading words followed her down, too far behind to make her laugh. But an ironic smile curled the edges of her mouth; still there when they took her limp body from the chains._

_Lying on the cold dungeon floor hours later she fought desperately **not** to wake, not to relinquish the darkness that had given her reprieve. The feel of coarse stone beneath her lacerated skin was the first warning she hadn’t died. Yet another bitter failure. She rolled resentfully to one side, too weak to seek any grander escapes. _

_The pain wasn’t enough to grant silence anymore. Bleeding cuts all over her back couldn’t overwhelm the torture of her thoughts. What happened? The confused question came back, angry but aching. What was I thinking? She balled a fist against her mouth, biting hard before a sob could burst free. What did I do?_

_“What have I done?” A tearful whisper from above echoed her anguish._

Quina listened loyally to every stuttered and hard wrought word that poured out of the Arisen. Her grim silence took in the shape and depth of the story’s pain, the effort of wrenching it free after being so deeply buried. All the while her hands carefully ministered to torn wounds, each one a livid and festering testimony to nightmares.

It had taken a fair bit of fumbling to get the Arisen out of her remaining armor, to lay her down on the bed to be treated. But she never stopped talking, described every detail as if vomiting out poison. A chance meeting, an irresistible pull, the hope and elation of feelings rising bright and limitless as dawn. Then a terrifying interruption and violent assault, the betrayal that felt like her heart being ripped out all over again.

“I was an idiot, Quina. I never should’ve gone.” The Arisen buried her face in the mattress, trying to stop the flow of tears that had started with her first words.

“She invited you, Cos,” she patiently soothed, continuing to dab poultice into the last open cuts, wincing each time the woman beneath her hands cringed. “She needed a friend, she was lucky enough to find you.”

“Friend!” The bark of laughter was harsh, followed by more hateful chuckles, “I wasn’t there to be friends. I let myself think I could have what I never should’ve wanted.”

“What you _both_ wanted,” Quina corrected firmly, brooking no argument.

She might not know the Duchess, or have been witness to their flirtations, but she knew without a doubt the noblewoman had been acting on genuine desire. This insufferably cheeky friend she’d grown up alongside had never once given attention to anyone that wasn’t open to her charms. She had an instinct, a nearly Maker-given gift for luring out women that weren’t just willing but eager to be seduced. A shadow of the same sense that told her which risks to chase, and which to flee.

“I put her in danger, Quina,” the Arisen groaned miserably, refusing to surrender her guilt.

“You were caught in a terrible situation, Cos. I fear what might have happened if you _weren’t_ there.” Within the first minutes of that dreadful tale she’d known who the true villain was.

“He would’ve killed her. He’s a fucking maniac!” At least the Arisen had figured out that much. For once, Quina didn’t bother to chastise her about language. If ever profanity was justified, it was damn well now.

“There is aught in him that may prove just as terrible as the dragon,” Quina agreed. How she wished her research had helped her find any answers for this! “But whatever this Duke was or tries to be, he is not half the Arisen you have become.”

“What if I’m like him though? What if I end up the same?” Her tears had finally stopped, hushed by the fear that had tortured her far worse than any pain.

“Impossible.” Quina rejected the thought without hesitation, chuckling at the absurdity of it.

“I’m serious!” the Arisen rolled up on one side, fixing her with a hard, reddened stare. “I don’t know myself anymore. This thing—boon, curse, whatever you want to call it!—what if it’s changing me? What if I’m becoming that selfish? Maybe I was just being reckless and greedy, blinded by what I wanted to see.”

There was such a twist of darkness in her eyes when she gazed down the length of her own body, full of scorn and doubts like it had become something foreign. It was an agony Quina recognized, had seen on faces of countless penitents when they came here in search of aught to believe in. Never in her lifetime had she thought to see this brash and certain woman losing faith in herself.

“Oh, Cos.” A sad puff of air passed Quina’s lips. She cradled the other woman’s chin, drawing her attention back up to focus on every word. “I know you. And yes, you are changing. But not because of _that_ ,” she darted a deliberate, teasing glance down. “You’re no more reckless in your passions than you were before. Or do you forget the time you leapt naked from a window because Benita was coming up to see what was making such noises in her daughter’s room?”

“Lucky for me your house was just the next one over,” the Arisen managed to chuckle, some of the shadows in her eyes lifting. Seeing even a trace of brightness come back to her face unfurled warmth beneath Quina’s ribs, spread it through her like sunlight. She stroked a few messy strands of hair from one cheek, coaxing the start of a smile.

“You are simply becoming more yourself, Cos. Part of you has always wanted to fight, always loved to win.” Maker, the stories she could tell of the challenges, brawls and sheer chaos this woman had found ways to make in their sleepy village! Her thumb grazed one cheek affectionately. “But there was also the part of you that wanted to help, to protect.”

“Especially you, when we were young and the kids were such bullies.” The Arisen’s hand found Quina’s fingers and folded them in her own, kissing each knuckle.

“Mmm, you were very fond of beating up Ramon any time he was mean to me,” Quina recalled happily. How he’d spat and cursed and cried, losing to a girl! “And you taught me to take care of myself as well. So that you wouldn’t always have to save me.”

“So that you wouldn’t always _need_ me to save you,” the Arisen quickly corrected her, set jaw daring her to argue.

“You’re right. And most of the time I don’t,” Quina conceded with another light purr of laughter, wondering how this woman could go from misery to jokes to difficult in such rapid turns. “But now there are others that _do_ need you. That only you can help. You’re becoming a hero, Cos, and that means caring more about the people you save than the fights you win. You doubt yourself because you don’t want to fail anyone.”

“I failed _her._ ” The jaggedness of broken blades edged her argument, weighed with a melancholy that made it clear who she meant.

“No, you didn’t.” Quina refused to let her slip into such false regrets. “You saved her from him, Cos, though it meant gambling your very life. She could choose no one finer to fall in love with.”

It was remarkable how smoothly those genuine words flowed off her tongue. For so many years she had been anxious of them, worried over this moment that she knew would inevitably come. Beautiful as it was, this easy intimacy of theirs wouldn’t always be enough. For either of them. Now—rather than being saddened in the face of that simple truth—Quina felt a trace of relief. As if saying it aloud lifted a burden she’d carried without even knowing.

Unfortunately, the Arisen wasn’t quite so mature where matters of the heart were involved.

“She doesn’t love me.” Her sulking protest was nearly juvenile, like the moping girls of Cassardis pining over spurned affections. It didn’t help that she rolled back to her stomach, burying her face in a pillow.

Quina had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. A stern but silent scolding pushed amusement away, reminding herself that this was perhaps the first time her friend had experienced such things.

“Didn’t she say as much?” She asked innocently, feigning confusion.

To keep the Arisen from reading her face she rose and busied herself putting away the medicant, gathering bloodied rags and dumping them in a basin. Nearly two dozen bits of cloth she’d needed to bind all those wounds. Dark sadness clouded her eyes at the very thought, the sight of those interwoven bandages that would become a patchwork of scars.

“She said a lot of things,” the Arisen scoffed. Waiting until Quina turned back, she fixed one eye on her with a sullen gaze and repeated more stubbornly, “She doesn’t love me. She can’t. We met only twice. Three times, if you count the few minutes before that nightmare.”

 _As if love knows anything of schedules._ Quina wished her friend had ever taken the time to learn such things. Love could take years or happen in an instant, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was what you did every day after. Perhaps it was her own fault for never trying to make her understand.

“Four,” Quina gently corrected, coming back to sit on the edge of the bed. “She came to free you from the dungeon.”

Sighing heavily, the Arisen rolled to one side. She looked up at Quina like a child caught lying, “So you figured that out?”

“Who else would come to your prison cell? Who had even more to regret of that night than you?” She shrugged casually to keep from gloating.

She hadn’t been exactly sure from the story, not until the Arisen confessed in her reply. But every instinct had told her as much, every fiber of her being screamed the answer. In all the recounting there hadn’t been a trace of anger at Aelinore. Confusion and hurt, certainly, but not wrath. Which meant—no matter what the Duchess had said or done in those tense moments with the Duke—the Arisen had found reason to absolve her crimes.

“She told me to go.” The Arisen’s voice was smaller as she spoke, fragile as she’d ever seen, “Told me how scared she’d been. How angry he was. I could see the bruises he’d left on her neck, Quina, she still had the sound of death in her throat.” Her breath hitched, words dragging on emotion, “She didn’t even ask—wouldn’t have let me forgive her. Like she knew we could never go back.”

“But you will.” There wasn’t a trace of question in Quina’s mind. A confused line scrunched the Arisen’s brow, forcing her to clarify, “Go back, I mean. You have to.”

“She said I had to run.” The Arisen shook her head, wincing at the memory. “I have to stay away. He tried to murder her once already. I can’t be the reason he does it again.”

“He didn’t have a reason.” Quina felt herself sicken when she thought of the Duke’s brutal attack. “And nothing stops him from trying again. Nothing but you, Cos. You left her in danger, and you’ll never be able to save her from far away.”

Silence absorbed her words, the Arisen balling her fists in the sheets and deliberately trying to avoid her eyes. So childish sometimes!

“You’ll also never get answers,” Quina prodded, refusing to release her friend’s squirrely gaze. “You’ll never know what might have happened that night if the Duke hadn’t come.”

A faint blush creeping onto one cheek told her she’d found the right thread to pull. She moved closer on the bed, leaning down to purr seductively,

“Never know if she’d have kissed you.” There it was! The twitch of lips trying to fight a smile. Quina smirked, knowing she’d already won, but relishing the pleasure of driving her point home with a whisper, “Never get a chance to tell her you’re in love with her too.”

“Quina,” the Arisen grumbled, pushing her teasing mouth away.

“Don’t you?” Quina challenged, arching one wicked brow. The Arisen just huffed, looking away in exasperation.

“I don’t know. After all this—.” she twisted to see the bloody stripes that crested her shoulders, shaking her head as she turned back. Her body had tensed, ready for a battle without enemies and in the end she could only groan, “I just don’t know anymore, Quina.”

“You don’t have to, Cos.” She traced a finger over the crease etching the Arisen’s brow, proud of how easily the woman still softened beneath her touch. “You needn’t know all the answers, my love. Just keep asking the right questions. Now scoot over.”

“Scoot?” The Arisen started to protest, silenced when Quina rose and pulled off the heavy robes of her sister’s habit. She immediately obeyed, wriggling to the far side of the tiny bed. A heavy bundle of cloth hit the ground with a thump and the Arisen basked in the sight of Quina standing before her in nothing but a slip. Raw perfection in pure simplicity.

“Aren’t you a sister now?” This time the cocky smirk was her true self, roving gaze lit with a roguish twinkle.

“No.” Quina rolled her eyes, wondered how many times she’d have to explain such things. She slid onto the narrow mattress, one eloquent brow tilted in warning, “And even if I were, I’d not break any vows by simply lying here tonight.”

“Just lying . . .” the Arisen repeated, not bothering to pretend she wasn’t disappointed. Yet perhaps a little relieved as well. After baring so much of her naked soul, raked and stinging from harsh memories, she was teetering near the brink of exhaustion.

“You need to rest, Cos.” As always, Quina knew her thoughts without a word. The healer carefully enfolded her in a gentle embrace, letting their warmth and breath mingle, “This way, I know you will.”

Her smile was pure affection, drawing the Arisen’s lips into a long and tender trade of feelings as complicated as their lives together, as simple as a gift. They sank into each other easily, gratefully, a refuge from everything that would see heroes shatter and fall. Hands were doubly cautious in holding each other close, wary of wounds and chastened with apologies. As sleep crept towards them the Arisen drew back, settling against Quina’s side to rest on her chest, listening to the rare sound of a heartbeat.

“What if?” She mumbled tiredly, her grip on words fading as she fell into slower breaths, each fluttering the loose shift above Quina’s breasts. “What if I am in love with her?”

There it was. The question she’d been expecting for years, had formulated a hundred lies to answer. But with this tortured and weary woman cuddled so innocently against her, trusting her with the last of the worries that kept her awake, Quina couldn’t find anything but truth rising on her tongue.

“Then she is a very special woman, Cos. And I would expect nothing less.” As the words became reality, she knew she never could have said anything else. 

A sweet sigh filled the Arisen’s whole body, washing away her last thoughts in pure relief and drifting to sleep. Quina kissed the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent with a smile. Contentment hummed softly in her chest, her fingers playing through ruffled hair while she savored the brief but perfect peace. She had truly never wanted more than this simple happiness. For them both.

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

Morning light crept through a hundred cracks in the timber walls, inching up the bed sheets like glowing lace. The Arisen slit one bleary eye open, immediately stung by the brightness and trying to roll away. Soft weight blocked her, the sleepy arms wrapped around her waist tightening briefly to keep her close. A moment of confusion instantly swelled into delight, recognizing the feel of Quina’s warmth against her skin. The healer hadn’t let her go all night.

How long had it been since she’d actually fallen asleep with someone? In a bed no less! Maker, even the scratchiest mattress and thinnest blankets were better with another sharing them. Rhiannon didn’t count because she never slept. Damn pawn just laid there pretending, trying not to wake her. But to feel Quina’s breath fluttering her hair, the steady rhythm beating just below her cheek! Her empty chest ached, thinking of the long months that had dragged her away from these comforts.

It had been Quina the last time too. The night after the dragon attacked, after her whole world changed. The memory was a fond glow in her thoughts, drifting subtly towards details that made her pulse skip. _Not now._ She chided the slippery hints of excitement trying to sneak through her veins. Not when there was still time to enjoy this innocent peace. Not when Quina was only just stirring, beginning to tense in the prelude of movement.

“Mmmmm.” Quina rolled lazily, bringing them face to face before giving a long, luxurious stretch. She went taut in the Arisen’s arms for a few slow seconds, then melted into her like every curve had been made to fit. Was it her imagination, or did the healer feel softer? Abbey life must be kinder than the village.

“Good morning.” The Arisen combed long, wild curls away from Quina’s face, letting her see the eyes that fluttered open.

“Yes, it is,” Quina smiled, pressing a light kiss to her lips.

One chaste peck led to another, a languid exchange of greetings as they both shook off the last residue of sleep. An arm left the Arisen’s waist to wrap around her shoulders instead, toying with her hair while each trade of affections grew warmer. No amount of mental scolding could stop the sparks firing beneath her skin when she felt parted lips luring her to deepen the kiss. The sultry pleasure of Quina’s mouth welcomed her, moaning when the Arisen’s fingers curled on her hip to pull her even closer.

Threads of want plucked along her nerves, created a tangle in her gut that grew heavier with each caress. Quina moved against her, subtly beginning to squirm and press. A particularly sinful shift of her hips dragged against the Arisen’s rising length, instantly doubling the swell that rushed to bring her cock to full attention. She could practically taste the smugness in Quina’s smile.

 _Oh, shit._ She bit her tongue, catching the shudder of a moan at the feel of long fingers slipping inside her breeches. Quina seized her advantage, twisting them on the tiny bedframe until the Arisen was above her, pinning her in the tangled sheets. She stared down into darkening whorls that swallowed the color of Quina’s eyes, both of them already breathing short and fast.

Were they really going to—? On the Abbey grounds with Maker knew how many nuns outside?!

A knee hooked over one hip, drawing her toward the welcoming heat of spread legs, Quina’s cotton shift falling away from naked thighs. The invitation was as unmistakable as the sinful smile that spread those full lips. Wet and swollen folds parted for her, anointed the very tip of her cock with arousal.

 _I’ll pray for forgiveness later._ The Arisen couldn’t help grinning. She leaned down to catch Quina’s lips, savoring the anticipation for just another moment before the world shook.

Literally. Dust rained down from the quaking rafters, a roar of thunder matching the burst of fire that lit the windows from outside.

“Shit!” The Arisen forgot everything else, wrapping her arms around Quina and rolling them both to the floor.

The healer squeaked a breathless protest, as much from the shocking interruption as the hard landing. The Arisen kept Quina’s head tucked against her, safe from any of the timbers that groaned and threatened to fall. The rumble of the explosion faded rapidly to the distance but left her ears still ringing.

“Sorry.” The Arisen looked down, making sure Quina wasn’t hurt before relaxing her hold. “For swearing.”

“What was that?” Quina pushed her back, sitting up and searching worriedly for signs the dragon had come again.

“That was—,” she started to explain but was cut off by frantic pounding on the door.

“Arisen! I insist you come out here at once!” Even in tones of panic there was something irritated in that command. “Your pawn is making weapons and terrifying my nuns!”

“Rhiannon.” The Arisen finished in defeat. The damn woman had a habit of assembling throwblasts whenever she got bored. They had more of the bloody things than you’d need to kill an entire ogre army. She rose and helped Quina off the floor, brushing the dust from her hair and face.

“I suppose that’s our morning ruined,” the brunette sighed wistfully, allowing the Arisen to gather their clothes.

“Next time?” The Arisen waggled one playful brow, reluctantly handing over her robes.

“Yes, if you don’t make me wait too long.” Quina’s mock glare was as empty as her threat. They both knew it never mattered. Days, months, maybe years—time never seemed to pass between one meeting and the next, falling into each other with the same carefree pleasure they’d shared all their lives.

They were fully clothed and out the door at the very second Mother Clarus had raised her fist to start pounding again. Rhiannon was sitting petulantly on the Abbey steps, her satchel of explosive materials being guarded by an entire ring of shell-shocked but angry nuns. The Arisen made as many apologies as she could, coaxing and begging and charming until she finally got them to surrender her lethal goods.

“Apologies, master.” A slight downward tilt of Rhia’s chin was as close to shame as the pawn had ever been able to show. At least she tried.

“Don’t worry, Rhia, I know you and your toys.” The Arisen patted her on the shoulder, handing over the satchel with little more than a rueful laugh.

Despite the frustration of being interrupted, she just couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. She felt better than she had in weeks, like life was fresh and new again. And the pawn had put up with her rages and sulking all this time. If not for the bag of explosives in her arms the Arisen might’ve hugged her.

“I’ll wait beyond the entrance.” Rhia cast a brief, knowing glance towards Quina and swiftly moved away, leaving her master just a little confused.

“Time to go?” The healer asked as casually as possible, trying to hide the concern that always crept into her eyes when they had to part.

“Unless you need some holes blown through the wall,” the Arisen shrugged back, then stiffened with a sudden memory. “Yesterday—you said you had news for me! I can’t believe I forgot!”

“You had so much else on your mind, Cos.” Quina’s eyes darted away, nervously brushing stray hair from her face.

“And now I don’t, thanks to you!” Her happy grin started to falter, noting the familiar traces of trouble in her friend’s manner. “It’s my turn to listen, Quina. So tell me?”

For a long second she feared the brunette would actually refuse. Quina bit her lower lip, casting her gaze back and forth across the grounds several times before catching the Arisen’s hand and dragging her towards a secluded shadow. Dread was drilling spikes up her spine before the sight of Quina’s smile let her know it was safe to breathe.

“I’ll only tell you if you promise not to worry.” She spoke low and quiet, but firm. Only after she saw a reluctant nod of assent did she continue, “I haven’t bled since before the dragon.”

“Haven’t—,” the Arisen’s mind stuttered, faltered, started again, “But that was three months ago!”

“Three and a half,” Quina corrected with a smile, eyes dancing radiantly.

“Holy shit!” To her credit, the Arisen’s shocked profanity was only a whisper. She didn’t have any voice to use for words anyway, too stunned by the surprise. She licked her lips, willing sound to travel up her tightened throat, “Can I see?”

“There’s little to see,” Quina laughed at her shy eagerness, took one hand fondly in her own. “It’s too early. But you can feel.”

The habit was scratchy beneath her fingers when Quina guided her hand where to touch. The thick and flowing fabric would no doubt hide her body for months to come. But when their joined hands rested at just the right spot she could feel the change. She slid her palm back and forth, exploring the slight fullness, the rounding that she’d so stupidly thought was just the result of a more comfortable life.

“You’re really pregnant,” she breathed in wonder. Mercedes had been right. Some part of her hadn’t believed it, hadn’t really wanted to. But here was proof, right beneath her fingers. Had been here for months if she’d just come sooner! Which planted a niggling question that refused to stay silent even in awe, “How long have you known?”

“Since before Witchwood.” Quina admitted with some apology, knowing the secret hadn’t been hers alone to keep.

“That was only a few weeks!” This time the Arisen’s voice did burst through, much louder than necessary. She checked that no one had heard her, guiltily slinking farther into the shadows and calming down, “How could you possibly know that soon?!”

“What kind of healer would I be if I didn’t?” Quina’s light laughter graced the air once more, affectionate and teasing all in one. 

The Arisen knew better than to argue with that. Women of Cassardis had always gone to Quina—and to her mother before her—for all matters of nature, especially the gifts of life. She brought her other hand up to join the first, grazing her fingers around a slender waist and trying to imagine what would change. Week to week, month to month. How different would this familiar body become by the time she’d returned?

“Ask me to stay.” She didn’t dare lift her eyes. The coming answer would be hard enough to hear, she didn’t think she could bear to see it as well.

“No.” Quina’s tousled hair brushed her cheek when she shook her head.

“Tell me not to leave,” the Arisen repeated, finally brave enough to look up and prove she was serious. She could see the answer even before it was words. There wasn’t a trace of apology in that sea green tone. Just _No._

“You have to go, Cos.” Quina gently cupped her cheek, meeting her gaze with a fiery determination. “The path you walk doesn’t end here. We both know that.”

“And yours does?” The Arisen frowned, looking up at the towering cathedral and its dour shadows. The thought of a child being born here— _raised_ —in this grim haunt of silence and sacrifice. Fuck, Madeleine was reared in an Abbey and look what happened!

“I don’t know.” The exasperating words slid far too easily off Quina’s tongue. “I don’t know yet where my fate lies. Perhaps here, perhaps back in Cassardis, perhaps much further away. But I know where _you_ must go.”

“To fight a dragon?” The Arisen rolled her eyes, wryly repeating the fact that had been spoken so many times it sounded like a joke.

As with everything else, Quina had an answer even for that . . .

The Arisen was still numbed when she marched distractedly off the Abbey grounds, forcing herself not to look behind. She heard Rhia fall into step alongside her, was vaguely aware the pawn was asking questions. The silence in her was fading, soon to give way to the noise that had always been the workings of her mind. She clung to the last strands of that stillness, the memory of Quina’s parting words,

“ _To make things right.”_

Quina had rested one hand on her chestplate, a reminder of the absent beat. The beginning that had driven them down these separate but interwoven fates. She focused on the beautiful confidence in Quina’s smile, the brightness when she pressed a quick kiss to the Arisen’s lips and murmured quietly in her ear,

_“For yourself. For everyone.”_

There had been a glint in those brilliant green eyes, the key to riddles and questions never asked. With a wisdom that promised to know her, now and forever and better than she’d ever know herself, Quina nudged her back to the right path,

_“For her too, Cos. Go back.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not only is that the last of the angst, it should also be the last of any chapters without sex. Now we can get back to good old PWP (but with a *little* plot). This might have simply been a means exorcising my own selfish need to cope with a canon game story-line I found particularly vexing. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> If you have a different take on that particular story arc, or any other opinions on this chapter to share, please feel free to drop me a message. Always appreciated!


	9. Arousing Suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter again - but back to good old NSFW material! Thanks for being patient, all.

**Arousing Suspicion**

The cave had been so much more impressive the first time she descended these deep cut stairs. It had felt as ominous as descending into the Everfall, dark with shadows and secrets that filled each step with foreboding. Now she leapt down four stairs at a time, shoving the Fool pawn out of her way for Rhiannon to deal with.

“Why doesn’t Edmun have any heirs?!” Her shout echoed off the cavern walls, loosing bits of stone to clatter on the floor.

“Edmun you say? I know that name . . .” The Dragonforged looked up with ancient eyes that pretended to see past her.

“Don’t try it, old man,” she snapped, finished with playing his riddles and games. She towered over his makeshift throne, daring him to look away. “Edmun—an Arisen like me! In fact, all of them! They were all touched by the dragon, weren’t they? Made into something different for his twisted purpose. So where are their heirs? Why isn’t the world overrun with the children of all these immortal chosen ones?!”

Duke Edmun had reigned for decades now. Since long before she was even born. Aelinore wasn’t his first wife in all that time. Who knew how many there had been? But not a single child had been produced, no successor to his throne. But she and Quina—on the very first bloody night! There was more here. More than Mercedes had been able to tell her, more than gossip and rumors could explain.

“The dragon,” his voice creaked like old leather, summoned words with the slow deliberation of testing a language that hadn’t been spoken in years. “The dragon bestows to each Arisen the power to leave their legacy. Should they so choose they might seed a line of champions amongst men, future generations that would stand with the courage and strength of heroes to make a finer world.”

She listened intently, nodding, waiting as patiently as she could until his silence grew too long.

“And? Where are they?” She demanded, nostrils flaring and jaw tight from her temper barely held in check. Shit, if the Arisens of the past had bred some bloodline of super warriors then why had it fallen to her to take up this fight? Because she was damn sure there was nothing about her ancestors more heroic than the occasional deep sea rescue of a drunken fisherman.

“The life within each Arisen is dependent on their will, on the proof or their worthiness to leave such an indelible mark. If they do not win their battle,” for the first time his mask of stoic resignation cracked, a wince of regret creeping into his eyes, “If the dragon departs unharmed it is not only the Arisen that suffers penalty. Any life from them is also forfeit forever. They will leave no part of themselves in this world. Neither before nor after.”

His tone faded on those last few words, eyes falling to the floor under the weight of impossible sadness. It stopped her short, silenced her impatience and anger. She straightened up and stepped back, shaken by the profound sense of loss that even he couldn’t have expected.

The Dragonforged had never formed bonds with others during his journey as Arisen; by his own admission he’d feared those feelings might prove a hindrance. Had he perhaps told himself there would be time for such things after the dragon was gone? Justified the sacrifice on the promise of making up for it later? How brutal it must have been to realize that his failure cost him not just his life before, but all hope of anything after!

Small wonder he devoted himself to teaching the future Arisens, guiding them as best he could away from the same mistakes. For him, that was all the legacy that remained. That, and a pawn so shaped and twisted by their centuries together that he blurred the line between wisdom and madness.

This new, unwelcome truth he’d revealed was as clear as it was cruel. Die, and Quina would lose the child. Run, and Quina would lose the child. Fail in any of a hundred different ways and the outcome would always be the same: she might pay with her life, but someone else—someone innocent—would be paying far worse a price. Where before there had been a handful of disagreeable options, now there was only one.

 _Guess that settles it then._ She rolled her shoulders, shaking off the chilly grip that had tightened around her ribs like chains. No matter what any other Arisen before her had done, she was just going to have to kill the damn dragon. But there were still a few other problems to handle first. Starting with the matter of a terrible man and his pesky bit of jewelry . . . .

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

“Ah-Arisen!” Aldous’ greeting was rather louder and more excitable than his usual staid calm. “You were absent so long, we began to fear—,”

“Here’s the Wyrmking Ring.” She slapped the recovered prize into the Chamberlain’s open palm, cutting short his welcoming gesture. She’d forced herself to focus only on him with every step into the throne room. To keep her eyes away from Edmun until the bubbling venom in her gut stopped trying to reach for her blades. Her jaw ached from biting back curses, swallowing the memories of the first time she’d been in this castle, and the last.

“So it is. Remarkable!” Aldous looked down at the ring, eyes widened with some secret surprise or worry. It vanished in his next effusive smile, praise booming around the empty chamber, “You continue to impress in every way, Arisen! Your service to the Duchy must be rivaled only by your sense of duty and honor.”

It wasn’t just her imagination that heard an extra emphasis dripping off those last few words like warnings. Aldous had leaned towards her, scouring her shielded face for any sign of intent. She offered nothing back, only a heavy glower daring him to keep up this strange pretense.

“Something else you need me to do, _ser_?” She took a step closer to the Chamberlain, saw how his eyes fought not to cringe away. He wasn’t just nervous, he was _scared_ of her. Now, wasn’t that interesting?

“Not at the moment no, ah—,” Aldous’ eyes searched the room, trying to find some pretext or explanation, some excuse for being so unprepared. When such efforts failed him, his gaze simply came back to the Arisen with a faint shadow of apology, “You have done your duties too well, it would seem.”

“Good.” She snatched the ring back from his hand and turned her attention to the throne. There was enough control in the strain of her muscles now, enough discipline keeping her spine straight and daggers sheathed.

Duke Edmun had been watching, listening to every word. She could practically feel his eyes boring through her armor. Now she riveted him with her own steely inspection, closing the distance between them to stand directly before his throne. His face was a mask, perfectly hiding any of the anger or vengeance she expected to see. She couldn’t read through the heavy shields of his eyes. Couldn’t see hate, regret, guilt; there was no clue as to whether he remembered that night over a month ago, or had done anything worse since.

“Your jewel, sire.” She thrust the ring towards him in her open hand, wishing she could fashion death out of sound.

Edmun refused to look at the ring, gaze flicking to it only briefly before quickly darting away. But in that split second, when she’d seen the whites of his widened eyes, she’d seen the thoughts behind as well. He never expected her to succeed. Expected she wouldn’t even make it back alive. With his entire kingdom hanging in the balance of her coming battle with the great dragon, he’d tried to set her up to die by some crackpot mage.

“Now, Your Grace.” Sarcasm dripped slow and heavy off her lips. She deliberately tilted her hand until the supposedly prized ring clattered uselessly to the floor, bouncing with a _ping!_ that rang off cavernous walls, “I believe this matter is settled.”

In the silence that stretched between them was a new understanding. She knew what Edmun was, what kind of Arisen he’d been and what kind of man he’d become. Just as he now knew there would be no stopping her. Not from her path as Arisen, not from slaying the dragon he’d failed to vanquish, not from becoming the hero he’d spent his whole life pretending to be. Between now and then, he would stay the hell out of her way. With little more than a scornful curl of her lips she straightened up, marching past him towards the stairs beyond.

“Where are you going?” One last stir of the Duke’s crippled pride called after her, tried to summon some semblance of power and command. His pretense sounded as hollow as its echo in the hall.

“To pay my respects to the Duchess,” she answered without a flinch. How had she ever been scared of this man? Another thought turned her back, brought her to lean around the side of the throne and rumble a threat low and vicious in the Duke’s ear,

“If she’s been harmed in any way, if she’s _ever_ hurt by you or your order,” the sharp sigh of a dagger slipping from its sheath was just between them, beyond anyone else to hear, “I will drag you from this throne, bind you in spells and chains, and I will take you— _personally_ —to be fed to the dragon that should’ve had your filthy hide before I was ever born.”

Without another backward glance she vaulted the stairs, two and three at a time putting distance between herself and the sour, selfish resentments that threatened to make her no better than him. There was already too much death and blood on her hands, too many battles left to fight. Grudges had no place in her life right now. Justice would come for Edmun. Today, tomorrow, next year; by her hands or by anyone else seeking to right gross wrongs. There were probably plenty of them out there.

“You finally return, Arisen.” A familiar rounded and lingering accent caught her ear just before her eye found the speaker. Mercedes leaned against the railing of the balcony above the throne room. It couldn’t be coincidence that she was just in front of the doorway that led up to the Duchess’ chambers.

“Miss me?” The Arisen flashed a cheeky smile, torn between the fondness that wanted to at least visit Mercedes and the fist in her stomach dragging her towards the tower entrance.

“Of course.” Mercedes gave a nonchalant shrug, leaving the banister and approaching the same door that called to the Arisen’s restless feet. Steel-colored eyes swept over her, only a single twitch at the edge of Mercedes’ lips hinting at her thoughts. Her tone dropped lower, conspiracy drawing them close, “But not at much as another, I think.”

The bright amusement flickering in her eyes was more than enough to describe in detail what went unsaid. A deep breath filled the Arisen’s chest, washed out of her with the relief of finally breaking above drowning waters.

“Has she been safe? Well?” She unconsciously grabbed Mercedes’ arm, either to drag the answers out or simply hang onto hope.

“Yes. Although, if you truly cared about such things perhaps you shouldn’t have left so long?” A single arched brow was eloquent reproach, disappointed in her choice. Mercedes wouldn’t have fled from a battle, nor avoided it for so long. A true knight of any realm, she might suffer defeat a hundred times but she would never tolerate surrender.

“I had to think, Mercedes,” the Arisen sighed, looking away from that merciless judgment. The tower still beckoned, just beyond the open door. But she couldn’t take another step until knowing everything this woman had to say. She’d come to trust Mercedes too much to ignore her now.

“And have you finished? Thinking?” Mercedes rested a hand on her sword pommel, the same relaxed but commanding pose she used when addressing an army.

“Probably not.” There was a helpless bit of chuckle in her reply, aware that all the impulsive instincts that had guided her life were worthless now. She let go of Mercedes’ arm and ran a hand through her own hair, tugging a little harder than necessary at the messy strands, “I just don’t think I can figure it out alone anymore.”

“Good.” Mercedes took a deliberate step back, smiling as she gave a subtle nod towards the stairway. “Let her make her own choice, Arisen. She deserves that much.”

A grateful smile was the Arisen’s only reply, heading up with renewed conviction. With every rapid step she felt her nerves lighting up, plucked like strings. She half expected to hear footfall behind her, shouting guards and the clatter of weapons come to stop her, to drag her away again. Only silence chased her but still she quickened her pace. Swift steps turned to a sprint, flat out running across the bridge to the Duchess’ tower before she finally halted, breathing deep to quiet the blood racing in her veins.

In daylight the Duchess’ chamber was awash with bright colors, beautiful fabrics and ornate bits of art all flecked with the tinted rays of sun shining through stained glass. It was actually blinding and the Arisen froze just inside the doorway, squinting to make sense of the brilliant blurs. One color separated from the rest, pale gold and rushing to her across the room.

“You came back!” Aelinore didn’t stop herself this time, her slender frame landing against the Arisen so fast they both staggered. Arms wrapped around her, tight enough to block air if not for her armor. Blonde hair fell rampant over her shoulder and chest, Aelin’s face buried unapologetically beneath her chin to hide the emotions making her breath ragged.

“I couldn’t stay away. I tried.” The Arisen’s mind drifted over those miserable weeks, sinking ever deeper into that self-inflicted punishment. All because she couldn’t let herself want this, wouldn’t believe she could have it: this feeling of Aelin in her arms, clinging to her in an embrace that was somehow both delicate and fierce.

Her entire back was stiff, tense from the effort of not squeezing the other woman too hard, barely controlling an urge that would surely leave bruises. The scent of perfume filled her senses when she kissed the top of Aelin’s head, breathed in the clean, light fragrance that she’d failed to scour from her memory. It made her throat clench, fought with her tongue when she licked her lips to speak,

“I’m sorry, Aelin. I’m so very—,” her apology was cut off by a sudden press of fingers against her mouth, stifling any sound. Eyes so wide and blue they could rival an ocean fixed on her, swallowed up all the pain and sorrow she’d been ready to pour out.

“Don’t,” Aelinore’s gentle plea hovered at the edge of command. “Please don’t ever apologize. Not to me. I don’t want to think about—don’t want to remember—,” her voice tightened on the words, fighting back memory. “Just tell me you’ve forgiven me. That’s all I have to know.”

The fingers left her mouth, cupping one cheek to bring her subtly closer to Aelin’s silently begging lips. So close now, the Arisen could see the shadows beneath that bottomless gaze, the tired, haunted look of sleepless nights spent fleeing oneself. These past weeks had been punishment for them both. Behind that bruised and aching pain there was still a spark, intense as faith before a miracle, waiting only for her.

“There was never anything to forgive.” The Arisen smiled at the feel of Aelin’s held breath releasing in a sigh.

She had saved prisoners from cages that sounded less grateful, less moved than that single exhalation parting Aelinore’s lips. Lips that were suddenly on hers, soft and hesitant but eager, offering a moan that was nearly tortured with relief. Surprise lasted only a second, the Arisen instantly succumbing to the sweetness of Aelin’s kiss, the intoxicating feel of that mouth confessing to her in a language beyond words.

Aelin’s lips told her that this was her first; the only _real_ kiss she’d ever had, the one she chose and wanted. Inexpert but heartfelt she mirrored the Arisen’s every caress, following her lead and going further. Tender affection grew warmer, hungrier, romance giving way to passion. Rustling fabric and creaking leather echoed the whispery wetness of their lips, finding any way to feel closer, feel more.

The way Aelin’s mouth parted on another sound of pleasure promised how long she’d been waiting, that there could be no stop, no going back. Her hand crept to the back of the Arisen’s neck, clutching her tighter with each new shiver. Air was only what they shared, passing between them in quick, shallow pants. She could feel the urgent rise and fall of Aelinore’s breasts with each breath, the way her whole body filled and emptied between one second and the next, like the pulse that was pounding through the Arisen’s own veins.

A tentative swipe of her tongue exploring for the briefest moment admitted that Aelin had been thinking of this, imagining it, fantasizing until she could know the reality. The heat of desires too long buried found release in a gasp against the Arisen’s open lips, taking the kiss deeper to taste, to seduce a beautiful, helpless groan of pure need that made her fingers curl. The answer of Aelinore slipping into her mouth made her clutch at the other woman, shocked by the swift and shameless greed so determined to claim the Arisen’s in every way.

Everything about kissing Aelinore made her lightheaded. The feel of her, the smell, the taste, the _knowing!_ Knowing how much she wanted her, how long they’d both suffered, how completely consumed they could become in each other in a single moment. Without a thought—without hardly a word—the longing between them spoke and answered and gratefully surrendered. Her every nerve was alight, racing sparks stoking a deeper, heavier need in the pit of her belly, fires that melted and pulsed and rose.

“ _Maker,_ ” the Arisen gasped, tearing herself away from the kiss to pant for breath. Any longer and the dizzying embrace would’ve blacked her mind, colors behind her eyes flickering like the remains of an explosion. Aelinore fared no better, chest heaving as she gulped air and stared up at her, eyes turned to starlit lagoons.

“I have wanted to do that since the first time we met.” Aelin’s confession stuttered and rushed on uneven breath.

The fullness and color of her lips was eloquent testimony, like the flushed redness of her cheeks and the way loose, blonde curls tumbled so riotously around her face. Such a different vision than the carefully poised, perfectly refined noblewoman that the Arisen had seen that first day in the gardens. And she had thought Aelinore was beautiful then—!

“Good thing I didn’t know.” Her voice strained to push past the myriad desires clogging her throat, weighing her tongue to lead. If she had known then, feeling like she did now? A sudden image of ravishing Aelinore in a bed of white orchids twisted her insides, made her thighs clench hard to keep from moving. Somehow, the petite blonde seemed to understand her thoughts, blushing a little but smiling all the more.

“I had never thought of being with a woman before. Not until I met you.” Aelin lightly teased her fingertips through the hair beside the Arisen’s face, studying her intently. “Then it was like a spell had hold of me, I could think of so little else! I-I—,” it was the first time she truly wavered, eyes slipping away while the crimson on her cheeks turned an even darker hue. She worried her lower lip for a moment before dropping to a lower tone to admit, “I practiced.”

“Practiced?” The Arisen echoed, hoping to the Maker it wasn’t _exactly_ what it sounded like because her discipline was already strained to the breaking point with this woman. That lower, coral shaded lip was caught by white teeth again, shy of truths about to slip free. Aelinore’s eyes slid back to her, nervous but determined.

“At night,” she confirmed, her hands taking the Arisen’s from her waist, guiding them to reach higher. Only her inner wrists brushed Aelin’s clothed breasts, but it elicited an immediate tremor, “In my bed.” She pressed closer to the Arisen’s touch, offering more to those open hands that had begun to explore. Emboldened, she leaned up and brushed their lips together, barely the edge of a kiss to frame her purr, “I thought of you. Wondered how much better _your_ touch would be.”

“ _Fuck._ ” The word hissed out of her without permission, without a thought. She was so unbearably hard that it probably demanded medicine. And not just her cock suffered at the image of Aelinore moaning naked in bed, hands moving urgently beneath the sheets. Lust gripped every part of her core, twisted like hooks and tethers, swelled with a want that scorched between her thighs every bit as much as it pulsed in her length until she unconsciously pulled the blonde harder against herself, hips rocking in search of friction.

“Yes,” Aelinore agreed breathlessly, stealing an excited kiss, “Yes, Maker, _yes._ ”

Feverish kisses and groping hands pulled the Arisen across the room, never separating, never stopping the greedy roll and thrust of her pent up arousal. The back of her legs hit something unyielding, tumbling her backward onto Aelinore’s bed with the ravishing blonde still in her arms. They landed in a tangle, hands and bodies keen to explore all the ways of feeling each other in this new embrace.

The Arisen barely noticed fingers tugging impatiently at the buckles of her armor, biting back a frustrated moan when Aelinore suddenly drew away. The blonde pushed up from her, rising on her arms to glower down at the multitude of fasteners and clasps that shielded the Arisen from harm and—right now—from _her_.

“Off.” That single, raw word dragged like velvet on her skin, Aelinore’s throaty demand sending chills down her spine. There was such unbreakable authority in the set of her jaw, a fiery command in her eyes. She looked truly regal, entitled to obedience and surrender like it was her due. Molten need pooling in the Arisen’s belly trickled low, hot and sticky and dangerously ready to give in. But she didn’t dare give up control too soon.

“You first,” the Arisen grinned and surged up, catching hold of the other woman and pitching them across the bed. A burst of shocked protest turned to laughter, Aelinore giggling and gasping in her arms as they wrestled atop the sheets. 

From one edge of the giant mattress to the other they rolled, random pieces of armor and clothing flung haphazardly around the room. One of her boots knocked over the dressing screen. A gauntlet scattered all the bottles of perfume on the far dresser. Impatient hands helped and hindered in equal measure, undoing straps and yanking at laces as often as grabbing for any grip that kept them close.

A reverent sigh followed the first brush of fingers grazing skin, stilling them both to savor the feel of the Arisen’s hand gliding up a naked thigh. Aelinore was partially pinned beneath her, watching her face with awe as fingers slid dangerously near the smoldering juncture all but begging for attention. A faint thread of reason in the back of the Arisen’s mind demanded to be heard, shouted that she was going too fast. She’d promised to make love to Aelinore slowly, carefully; not fuck her in a frenzy with half their clothes on. No matter that the lust staring up at her threatened to drown them both, or that lovely, pale legs parted ever so slightly in invitation.

The Arisen drew her hand back, only to be instantly trapped by strong thighs. Aelinore’s muscles trembled from the effort, a sudden vice refusing to surrender her touch. Shaky fingers coiled into the Arisen’s disheveled hair, pulling her down to a kiss that was clumsier and more desperate than the rest.

“Please,” Aelin begged against her lips. “I’ve been waiting so long.” The words dripped like honey off her tongue, sweet and sticking, “My whole life it feels like I’ve been waiting just for you.”

The rawness of emotion behind that confession shattered any wall that might’ve resisted more carnal pleas. With slow and steady breaths she fought to subdue the ache in her length, twitches that became heavy throbs the longer Aelinore held her with that beseeching gaze. Not trusting her voice to hold, the Arisen just gave an abrupt nod of assent.

The thighs gripping her hand relaxed, allowing her to slide back up and rest against soft, swollen folds. A few slow circles explored the fullness of that soaked flesh, the juices that coated her fingers with each pass. Aelinore’s hand left her hair, clutching her shoulder instead while her eyes lost focus, every sense fixated on the new and intoxicating feel of being touched by another.

Her lips stung when she wetted them, but the Arisen managed to force her mouth to work enough for a few rasped words, “Just tell me what feels good.”

“ _Everything,_ ” Aelin whimpered when a finger slid just a bit deeper to stroke back and forth within her slit. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feather-light brush of a fingertip against her clit, groaning when the sensation vanished, “Maker, everything feels _so good._ ”

That lilting assurance made the Arisen fear her ribs might crack from the swell of pride. No one else had ever touched Aelinore like this; no one knew the shallow, quickened puffs of air that parted her lips in excitement, no one else had ever heard the quiet, pleading keen that answered fingers barely dipping into the quivering ring of her sex. No one else would see the way she suddenly held her breath, eyes gazing up with such infinite trust and desire.

Sinking one finger into that tight, molten core set off a riot of twitches and ripples, Aelinore gasping while her fist crumpled the sheets. Patient and steady strokes let the muscles clinging so greedily to the Arisen begin to ease, matching her rhythm but for the bursts of need that made Aelin’s hips rock shamelessly into her hand. Arousal made her finger slippery, smeared past her knuckles and painted the inside of Aelinore’s tensing thighs. The Arisen coaxed all she could of that fragrant essence, drawing it out to run back and forth inside her folds, bringing her wet fingers up to play over the stiff jewel that made Aelin’s throat catch on a cry.

The pattern was perfect torture: a few delicious strokes inside the fluttering core that welcomed her, then teasing away to paint circles around Aelin’s swollen clit. Every pass made her squirm, made her wetter, until the Arisen could feel the bedding beneath her wrist growing damp. Aelinore grasped at her, writhing beneath the careful weight of the body holding her down, hips bucking up insistently to beg for more.

A second finger had Aelin arching off the bed, wrapping both arms tight around the Arisen and clinging like she might be swept away. Soft breasts swelled against her with each rapid breath. Whimpering, whispering lips seared kisses on every inch of skin she could reach, licking and nipping and moaning into the Arisen’s neck.

With her next thrust she found the full, heavy spot on Aelinore’s front wall, stroking it lightly and rewarded with a gasp that exploded goosebumps in every direction from Aelin’s mouth. Those sodden, velvet muscles fit so snugly to her fingers, clenching selfishly and parting willingly with every plunge.

 _Maker,_ so tight on just two fingers. Could she even take three? Would she be able to handle anything more? A jealous throb drew even more pressure into the pounding fullness of her cock. The front of her breeches was getting damp, starting to soak through like the fabric clinging to her sex. Gritting her teeth the Arisen vowed she could ignore it. Not for long, but for now. Just long enough . . .

A deliberate curl of her fingertips caught just right against that perfect spot inside Aelin, swiping her thumb in quick circles around her clit and making the tension that had coiled her entire body surge past the breaking point. The quake of her muscles fluttered rampant around the Arisen’s knuckles, trembled violently in her arms, released her ecstasy in a stream that drenched the fingers still buried between her thighs.

Any sound was muffled against the Arisen’s shoulder. Her cry turned to a vibration that shook them both, leaving nothing but a helpless whine when she finally fell back against the bed. She lay panting, flushed, oblivious to just how torturously erotic she looked in the wake of her peak. When the spasms of the muscles clinging so desperately to her fingers finally began to slow the Arisen carefully drew free, pleased the other woman didn’t even seem to notice. _Still lost in the aftershocks._ She did her best to stifle the smugness that was trying to turn her lips into a smirk.

The translucent nectar coating her fingers tasted like the fragrance filling the room: lust, fresh and dark and so very feminine. The feel of it on her tongue freed a choke of arousal from low in her throat. That sound summoned Aelinore back to her dazed senses, eyes fixing on the sight of her lover sucking both fingers clean. The Arisen had barely finished before the smaller woman surged upward, tossing them across the bed to land as victor above. Aelin pinned her to the bedspread, taking her kiss as triumph and scouring every taste, every hum of pleasure from her scorched lips.

Aelinore’s body pressed against her, luxurious and intimate even through the violated clothing that remained. Curves flowed against her like water, molding to her with the urgency of needing to be one. The Arisen could feel the fiery threads running beneath her skin were coalescing dangerously in the pit of her belly, becoming thick and heavy and irresistible in the want for release. Aelin _had_ to feel it. Couldn’t possibly not have noticed—could she?

“Now.” As if to answer the blonde straightened up, towering above her in command. Her hands tugged deliberately at the Arisen’s tunic and trousers, a single arched brow underlining her repeated demand, “Off.”

Obediently, the Arisen wrestled herself free of her tunic. It fought back, catching her hair and leaving her even more of a mess when she was finally free, but Aelinore didn’t seem to care. If anything, her gaze fell even deeper into the color of sweat-soaked sheets and tangled limbs. Her eyes roved over the Arisen’s torso. Reverence and want ravished her like a touch, etched every inch of flesh into memory. Not even the scars bothered her, fingers outlining that vile mark on the Arisen’s chest with nothing but awe. Only the tiny dart of tongue licking her lips hinted that Aelinore’s thoughts were drifting from wonder to want.

“And you?” The Arisen smirked up at her royal captor, eyeing the loose undergarment still shrouding Aelin. All her other clothing had been shed like skin, leaving only this silky shift, so thin that every shade and curve of her body was visible through the gossamer fabric. Particularly the rounded contours of her breasts, peaked in dusky pink tips that stood taut and hard through the material like beacons. The Arisen’s tongue twisted hungrily just at the sight.

Without a word Aelinore grabbed that last vestige of her modesty and pealed it off overhead, flinging it aside. Her hair tumbled back wildly around her shoulders, dampened just a little at the edges where sweat shone on her skin. She sat majestic atop the Arisen’s waist, naked and proud and utterly divine.

“Maker, Aelin.” The amazed whisper was half praise, half prayer. Her hands fumbled up the other woman’s spread thighs, resting at her waist, content simply to marvel for a moment that this miracle had literally landed in her lap.

“Am I—,” Aelinore’s sultry voice cracked at the edges, her seductive bravado briefly giving way to nerves. “Am I attractive enough?”

“’Attractive?’” The Arisen repeated in disbelief. She would have laughed if not for how heavily her throat closed on any sound.

Sitting up she circled her arms around Aelinore, letting her feel how their every touch made her shudder. Aelin’s hand was small in hers, lifted together to press against her breast and gasp at the instant pebbling that stiffened her nipple. The blonde’s mouth parted in beautiful surprise, hypnotized by the sight of her lover’s body so eager for her. There was almost an innocence to her excited touch, both hands filling with the Arisen’s breasts and finding the caresses that made her moan.

Her breath was already uneven, shallow and stuttering when her lips brushed Aelinore’s ear, shaping words out of a shivering sigh, “I’m terrified this is all some dream because no one could be like you. You’re perfect, Aelin. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone the way I want you.”

The confession rasped on her tongue, heavy and rough as whetstone beneath weapons. Solid but not complete. She did want Aelinore. Maybe more than she’d ever desired any other woman. But that wasn’t the truth, wasn’t _enough_. She wanted more. More than the pleasures of a beautiful face and body; more than sweaty, carnal games in the sheets. She wanted to make Aelinore smile, the way the blonde was smiling now—shy but beaming from that simple, heartfelt praise.

“And I want,” Aelin’s confidence reasserted itself, resting both hands flat on the Arisen’s chest and pushing her back down to the bed, “To finally see my warrior. All of her.”

The nervous tightening of her stomach muscles only served to make Aelinore more excited, a hint of fang flashing in her smile. The Arisen froze, caught by sudden doubt. She needed to tell her, warn Aelin that she was different, but every word that tried to start felt wrong. _I’m not—I’ve got—just wait, dammit!_ Aelinore’s fingers were far nimbler than the Arisen expected, making swift work of the last buckles and ties and pulling her loosened trousers down. All she could do was hold her breath, eyes screwed shut in prayer.

“Oh _my_.”

At absolutely any other time the sheer, delicate _preciousness_ of that breathless exclamation would’ve made her burst into laughter. She peaked one eye open, still bracing for a rejection that might break her completely. Aelinore was straddling her naked thighs, staring down in surprise at the thick cock jutting from her hips like a defiant gesture. Long and hard, the thing seemed determined to look as obscene as possible, twitching towards Aelinore with lust beading on the tip.

“It’s because of being Arisen,” she explained, reaching to cover herself. Not even both hands could hide her swollen member but still she tried to push it down, to erase it from this awkward moment.

“I see.” Aelinore’s eyes never left that unexpected surprise. She plucked at the Arisen’s fingers, pulling her hands away to study the full length without obstruction. “Then I must say your title suits you _very_ well.”

Aelinore’s lips were too elegant to ever be caught smirking, but the twist at one corner was perilously close. Her gaze traveled the length of the Arisen, head to toe and back again, lingering each time at that crucial juncture between her thighs with a glint that could only be called curious.

“I meant to tell you sooner, I got so caught up,” the Arisen sighed, feeling the sting of a blush color her cheeks. She was guilty her desires had distracted her so completely, but more embarrassed that the thought of what they’d done—what Aelinore so obviously enjoyed—made the ache in her base stir and pulse, another pearl of excitement leaking from her cock. “I’m sorry, Aelin.”

She started to sit up but one elegant hand on her chest pushed her back, kept her firmly in place. The set look of authority was back in Aelin’s face, a ruling like law that the Arisen was beginning to realize she could never break.

“Don’t apologize,” Aelinore repeated her earlier command, echoing a conversation they both remembered. “Not with me and definitely not for this.”

“You couldn’t have expected—,” she tried once more to protest, stunned silent by the feel of cool fingers grazing the underside of her shaft. Aelinore leaned down over the Arisen, one hand gently exploring the girth and feel of her cock while hovering near her lips.

“I expect nothing from you, my sweet warrior,” she poured promises into their kiss, scattering words between each affection, “And I’ll only have what you want to give.”

 _Fuck—_ “Aelin, please,” her voice was cracking into fractured need, the hand on her length beginning to stroke back and forth in time with the roll of her frustrated hips. “I won’t be able— _Maker_ —if you keep—!”

“Should I stop?” Behind those innocent eyes was the shine of something wicked, a sharp and greedy delight relishing every tremor and twitch of the Arisen’s body succumbing to her touch.

“No!” The answer came louder and faster than the Arisen had planned, almost sitting up save for the hand that kept her pinned to the mattress. “Don’t stop,” she repeated, trying not to beg, certain it was shouting from her eyes. She groaned when the hand caressing her cock moved faster, making her melt against the bed, “Don’t ever stop.”

Aelin’s fingers felt amazing. Cool on her feverish skin, gripping and stroking at a pace that made her whole body feel like she was in that hand, tingling and full and so, so ready to give in. The mattress dipped as Aelinore’s body shifted away from her, moving further down. The loss of her warmth made the Arisen open eyes she hadn’t even realized were closed. The blonde was kneeling between her spread legs now, watching intently as each pump of her hand earned another trickle of wetness—not just from the livid head of her cock but between the swollen folds of her sex as well.

“Can I?” Aelin looked up at her, question lost in the swirling colors of her eyes. Her lower lip—worn by her own teeth and bruised in so many kisses—curled in for a scant second before daring to admit, “I want to touch you.”

“A-anything.” _Holyhellshitfuck_. The Arisen flared her nostrils, trying to take a breath deep enough to stop the groan in her chest, “You can do anything to me, Aelin.”

Two fingers parting her folds promised that anything would be _everything._ The Arisen clenched her fists in the sheets, trying desperately to hold still for the pleasure now ravishing her body from two directions. Aelinore had lost any pretense of being shy, moaning in harmony with the Arisen as she pushed deeper and felt her lover for the first time.

 _Fuck. Fuck. HolyMakerFuck._ The Arisen threw her hand across her mouth, biting down hard against her fingers to stifle the profanity that wanted to scream to heaven. Aelinore was stirring her insides, curling and twisting and plundering her arousal to spill free in ever thicker streams, like the beads coming quicker from the tip of her shaft. Inexpert, inexperienced—hell, _clumsy_ —but the sheer wanton hunger of that touch, the passion begging and commanding and seducing her all at once!

“You feel so amazing,” Aelin’s murmur wasn’t even meant to be heard, a wondered prayer that matched her wide, ravenous eyes devouring every detail as she brought this gorgeous woman to the brink. The Arisen couldn’t answer, jaw clenched to hold back what she could of the tortured groans that kept rolling in her chest, tangling on her tongue, breaking free in breathless stutters every time her hips bucked forward for more of that exquisitely twinned agony.

The roiling tension in her depths fused with the pressure pounding in her cock. Fingers hooked into her front wall, probing the swollen patch that was epicenter to every trembling nerve, coiled her entire body inward. Her feet kicked at the sheets, teeth puncturing the skin of her hand. Caught for a split second paralysis like the eternity before a deathblow her senses spiraled down to something bottomless and finally exploded out. Fire and sparks deluged her veins, cascaded from her core to her fingertips and toes, flooded white-hot from the base of her cock to the tip and burst free in thick streams. Both of Aelinore’s hands smeared and got slippery, refusing to stop. She kept stroking the Arisen, inside and out, milking her through every last weak thrust of her hips and trickle that ran down pale fingers.

Everything in the Arisen’s view was spotty, blurred with edges of blackness for the long moments when she panted for breath and tried to feel the world around her again. The ceiling swam back and forth before slowly coming to center, distant as the walls and sounds of the room. The first thing the Arisen was aware of was Aelinore beside her, making softly surprised and contented noises while she licked her fingers clean. Gazing to one side she found Aelin’s blue eyes looking down at her, shimmering brilliantly with pride and delight. Even with a finger in her mouth her lips spread into a sinful smile, as pleased with herself as a conquering queen.

“You.” The Arisen had to clear the thickness from her throat, words dragging like gravel on her dry tongue, “You must have practiced a lot.”

“I did,” Aelinore confirmed with that same, wicked smile. She rested a hand on the Arisen’s chest, fingers tracing wet designs on her breast. “I had so much to think about.”

She favored the Arisen with a lingering kiss, gentle and slower than anything before. The languor of a growing familiarity eased their lips into a natural fit, not the instinct of old lovers but the willing affection of new. Aelinore’s supple mouth offered intimacies that had never been given, never been known. Each yielding, persuasive caress filled the Arisen with a warmth that threatened to burst her empty chest. Trust, hope, tenderness, longing; everything mingled into one in their embrace until the emotion alone became overwhelming.

“I’ve never been with anyone before,” Aelinore broke the silence when they finally had to part for breath, staring at one another with newfound understanding. They would be the very death of each other if they weren’t careful.

“I know.” The Arisen stroked a stray lock of blonde hair out of Aelin’s face, loving the trace of smile that answered even that simple touch.

She hadn’t known for sure, actually. Before she left she only knew that the marriage hadn’t been consummated. In the weeks since then, in the dark of hours past midnight, she’d lain awake tortured by the thought that Edmun would suddenly decide to take advantage of his rights. A beast of a man, a villain that would burst into his wife’s bedchamber and nearly strangle her to death—! Lying with him would leave any woman scarred and terrified of ever being bedded again. If nothing else, the Arisen was glad she could give Aelin a happy memory of firsts.

“The dragon came just before our wedding. I never thought I should be grateful to such a monster,” Aelinore continued her story, leaning on one elbow to gaze fondly down at the Arisen as she continued trailing a finger lightly over her breasts. “But with the kingdom under siege, my lord husband was too distracted for concerns of the marital bed.”

There was a talent in Aelinore’s tongue. In a few skillful twists she turned ordinary words to profanity. Lord husband became akin to bastard, and the marital bed deserved its own place in hell. But even the contempt in her voice couldn’t dim the satisfaction in her eyes while she watched the Arisen’s breath stutter and quicken in time with a touch circling one stiff nipple. Gooseflesh followed that teasing fingertip, tightening excitedly in its wake. The Arisen brushed her own thumb over the back of Aelin’s wandering hand, stroking smooth skin in idle encouragement.

“I had thought it was my fault. That I’d done something wrong.” Aelinore’s eyes rolled heavenward, an irritated regret of such foolishness. “Then I met you,” her gaze fell to the Arisen, welling with a sudden surfeit of emotions. A bead of moisture caught sunlight in the corner of her eye. “That was when I knew I didn’t want Edmun to ever touch me. I didn’t want to be his.”

“You aren’t,” the Arisen insisted, wiping away the tear before it could fall. “You don’t have to be anyone’s, Aelin.”

“But I am.” Aelinore caught the hand against her cheek, holding it to her face and leaning into the warmth, lashes fluttering closed for a moment. When the watery blue of her eyes opened again they were cobalt and midnight, love and lust spiraling into a void. Her sultry voice dropped to the hush of secrets, “I’m yours, my gorgeous warrior.”

A fierce shudder tore down the Arisen’s spine with those words, stealing air and curling her toes. A slender leg hooked over her thigh, Aelin’s body moving deliberately, insistently against her side. Her parted heat was pressed to the Arisen’s hip, smoldering and wet and unmistakable as she rocked forward, subtly grinding to chase new sparks of pleasure.

“You aren’t mine because I touched you, Aelin,” the Arisen growled, fighting for control against the thundering ache that filled her gut with each ardent word. _Yours, mine_ – her length had already been hard but Maker, now it _hurt_.

“Then how?” Aelinore’s moan cracked with need, desperate emotion bleeding through raw desire, “Tell me. I want to be yours.”

 _Just like that._ The Arisen groaned and rolled them over, pinning Aelin to the bed and holding herself up on her elbows; trying to keep some space so that she might keep some shred of her senses as well. Her breath was coming quick and hard, caught in the war between mind and flesh. Fuck, but she’d fought ogres that didn’t wear her out and make her tremble this way. She could feel excitement leaking from her tip, dripping onto Aelinore’s pristine skin.

“I want you too, Aelin, fuck the Maker, you have no idea how _much_ I want you,” the Arisen choked at the feel of hands trailing over her sides, scraping up her back and locking behind her shoulders, holding her in place like she’d always belonged. Another shuddering breath and she managed to find her voice, “But you shouldn’t have to live my fate. I don’t want you punished because of my curse.”

The dragon, her heart, the legacy that could be made and lost in a single battle, death and punishments worse than death all loomed in a shadowy near-future. She wasn’t even sure which of those myriad troubles she meant anymore, what part she was trying to protect Aelinore from having to suffer. The path ahead lead to heartbreak, she knew it in her bones. But there was pain just as sharp and shattering in the gaze looking up at her, the lips that fought so fiercely not to tremble.

“I can live and die apart from you.” Aelin swallowed hard, demanding control of the quaver in her tone, “But I would rather do both in your arms. If you’ll have me.”

The Arisen winced her eyes shut, begging the Maker to know if true strength was in denial or surrender. The answer was a mouth against her own, imploring with such a sweet and gentle kiss that her failing defenses crumbled to dust.

“I’ll have you,” the Arisen moaned into Aelinore’s lips, gathering her close to feel the way soft curves melded to every inch of her frame, “Maker, I want you to be mine Aelin. Today, tomorrow, forever.”

“Forever _._ _I’m yours_ ,” Aelinore gasped between kisses. The embrace grew feverish as they pressed together, sweat-slick skin sliding against each other, slippery under hands. _Yours_ fell again and again from Aelin’s mouth, a chant of _yesses_ that turned to hungry plea when the tip of the Arisen’s cock grazed her folds.

Moist heat instantly enfolded the head of her shaft, Aelinore instinctively angling her hips to seek more of the elusive contact just beyond reach. Tight muscles clutched and quivered when the Arisen’s tip bumped the entrance of her sex. She nudged again, feeling that virginal opening spread a little more in welcome. She had to reach down to position herself in the right spot, more nervous than she’d ever been in years of taking women to bed.

 _Slow. Just go slow._ She repeated the mantra to herself. Murmured it under her breath as she guided her cock to push into Aelinore. The first, clenching ring of muscles clamped down immediately, Aelin’s body caught between the warring urges to fight and surrender. Thank the Maker she was wet enough. More than wet enough. The Arisen reached down to play in the arousal that had already coated Aelinore’s folds, the same moisture beginning to coat her shaft.

“Just tell me and I’ll stop,” the Arisen promised. She dragged her soaked fingers up to the hard nub of Aelinore’s clit, swirling over it in deliberate circles. Her lips fell to the other woman’s neck, kissing tender spots up her throat, breathing assurances into her ear, “I won’t hurt you, Aelin. I will never hurt you.”

“Keep going,” Aelinore insisted, eyes scrunched shut. The face of a stubborn child. It made the Arisen want to laugh aloud while kissing her a hundred times. This woman was going to give herself, no matter the cost. But the Arisen knew her better.

“You want to be mine?” She nuzzled softly at the sensitive spot beneath Aelinore’s ear, fingers still playing magic on the jewel between her folds. “Want to be part of my life?” A throaty keen of assent was the only reply, echoed in the grip of hands digging hard into the Arisen’s shoulders.

“Me too.” The Arisen kissed down the column of a beautifully arching throat, swirling her tongue in the divot of Aelin’s collarbone. “I want to hold you all night. Hear you sing. See you in something other than fucking pink.”

Aelinore’s staccato of laughter rose into an arching moan, the fire in her belly scorching further down and melting her muscles to part. The Arisen slid a little deeper, a few inches, just past that tight ring and then held still, fighting the tremors that wracked her from head to toe. The Arisen’s mouth had reached the top of Aelin’s breasts; full and high, rising and falling like stormy tides.

“I want to make love to you with nothing but my mouth.” The Arisen blew softly across taut peaks, raising a frenzy of goosebumps that made Aelinore gasp. She closed her lips around one stiff nipple, savoring the way it fit her tongue. Her cock slipped further in, welcomed by a velvet sheath that was absolutely drenched with wet need. She suckled at Aelinore’s other breast, long enough to feel herself sinking almost to the hilt before she broke away from that rapturous bosom and found another kiss.

“I want to hear you call out to me, over and over until you forget any other sound.” She nipped at the other woman’s lips, delighted when Aelinore replied in kind. A hand found its way into her hair, daring her to try to escape again. Her hips were flush to Aelinore, the full length of her cock buried in that rippling, soaked core.

“I want to take you, Aelin,” she whispered, voice nothing but sand in a storm raking up the insides of her throat.

“Take me, Maker, please. _Now_.” Aelinore’s broken groan was nearly a sob, arching into the Arisen with an exultant cry when the first real thrust pierced her depths. After that it was only gasps punctuating every slow stroke that parted her open. A ragged duet of breathless moans coupled with creaking wood and wetness.

The Arisen fumbled for a grip on Aelin’s thigh, guiding the leg over her hip to feel deeper, closer. Aelinore pushed even further, circling both legs around the Arisen’s waist and locking her ankles, every muscle lending power to rise and meet that plunging cock harder, faster.

Long, needy whines caught in Aelinore’s throat, building and breaking in time with their speeding rhythm. The bedframe was slamming against the wall now, loud enough to raise the whole castle if this tower didn’t stand apart and alone. The feel of Aelin’s muscles around her length was almost unbearable, tight as a vice when she pulled away but supple and exultant every time she sank back in, sending jolts of pure electricity to the base of her shaft with each stroke.

“Aelin, I can’t, _fuck,_ not going to—,” the Arisen could already feel her body losing rhythm, pushing forward with nothing but primal greed. With barely a gasp for warning she came undone, pleasure flooding her veins and bursting eagerly from her length, painting Aelinore’s quivering sex in thick streams of lust and seed.

“ _Oh_ sweet _Maker!_ ” Aelin’s cry rose with her body, describing a perfect bow while her hips shamelessly ground against the Arisen, riding her own climax and taking every last ounce of the release pouring into her pulsating core.

“ _Yes,_ ” breathed out of Aelinore on a grateful, shuddering sigh. “Yes, my sweet, my warrior.” She tilted up to scatter kisses on the Arisen’s mouth, her cheeks, throat—any skin she could find between affections pouring from her lips, “My only, my _love_.”

The Arisen felt the words before she even heard them, a sudden furnace in her gut that twisted and shook and bled rapidly in every direction. She froze, gritting her teeth against the animal sound that roared up from her insides, a surge of fresh need filling her cock with an almost painful desperation. She spent herself only seconds before but it was like it never happened. There was so much pressure, back so quickly that all she could do was drop her head against the mattress, groaning helplessly while her hips bucked and jutted forward again. Another thrust, a greedy rock of her pelvis and she was shaking all over, barely prelude to the fire that uncoiled from her depths.

 _FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!_ She didn’t even know if she was thinking the obscenities or screaming them into the sheets, her whole body caught in the crash of a third climax unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She was paralyzed, numbed through every vein save for the thick bursts erupting from her length, flooding Aelinore’s already drenched sex. When the quaking tension finally left her limbs she collapsed, barely able to force herself to one side and avoid crushing Aelin.

She lay on her side, panting and stunned. All these months and there were still surprises!

“Are you alright?” Aelinore rolled to face her, a faint tinge of worry piercing the sated pleasure of her tone.

“I-I uh,” the Arisen hesitated, mind still in pieces, lost to understand what had just happened, let alone explain it. “It’s never been like that before.”

“Really?” Aelin’s eyes widened, fascinated but confused. “Which part?”

Inexperience wouldn’t slow this woman long; completely unfazed by any carnal surprises and so genuinely eager to understand. The Arisen chuckled, pulling Aelinore until they lay pressed together, facing each other amidst stained and rumpled sheets.

“You. There’s never been anyone like you before.” There was a relief in saying the words aloud, like a knot in her chest was coming untangled. She stole a lazy kiss, leaning back to enjoy Aelinore’s parted lips and the lingering flush on her skin, freshened with a blush from her praise. The same undeniable instinct that drove the Arisen onto a deadly beach now pushed words to her tongue, utterly refused to be silent, “I love you, Aelin.”

“And I love you,” Aelinore’s reply flowed so smooth, so swiftly; it had to have been behind her lips all this time, waiting to pour free. Her eyes filled with a sea of emotion, shimmering and endless. The radiant colors vanished when she pressed in and offered her love even more clearly, taking the Arisen in a poignant, thorough kiss. 

They lingered in that heartfelt exchange, lips and fingers trading confessions. Limbs and bodies braided together, the feel of their mingled release running onto the Arisen’s thigh a lewd contrast to the innocent way Aelinore cuddled under her chin and sighed. The sun had begun setting outside stained glass windows, casting dark rainbows over bare skin and ruined bedding. After a certain amount of frustrated wrestling the Arisen managed to loose enough blanket to cover their naked embrace. 

Aelinore hummed contentedly against the Arisen’s chest and it no longer mattered that she had no pulse of her own. She could feel the other woman’s heart beating for them both. Despite the hole in her chest, she felt complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on this chapter I realized I've never done a scene with a virgin character before. New territory, so be gentle. (Terrible joke, I know, but I couldn't resist!) Comments and critiques would all be greatly appreciated, especially if I ever plan to write a similar scene in the future. 
> 
> We're well past the halfway point now. The remaining chapters will all be smutty but also a bit more emotional, so they might take me longer to hammer out. Any thoughts/opinions/questions you'd like to share will help to keep me motivated! Thanks!


	10. Pride Before a Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be my imagination, but it feels like the deeper I get with this story, the longer the chapters become. Sorry, I guess there's just more character and canon that has to mix in with all the smutty fun!

**Pride Before a Fall**

Mercedes had a true leader’s presence. In the aftermath of betrayal and tragedy she marched with disciplined calm. Her orders weren’t shouted or rushed, taking stock of the situation and issuing commands with cool certainty. Her voice was steadfast but gentle when she counseled the loyal soldiers not to be dishonorable or cruel. The traitors wouldn’t be harmed. Their injured were treated, the fallen gathered from the bloody grounds to be returned home. Julien would be taken to Gran Soren to face punishment for his crime, as would his cohorts. None of them were to be “accidentally” lost along the way. Her gaze fell particularly hard on Ser Daerio during that warning, refusing to let his eyes escape until he assented with a weary nod.

Nothing in her bearing as she circled the decimated camp hinted at her feelings, at the events that had turned her world upside down this night. She had allowed herself only a few moments of emotion in the privacy of the upper tower chamber, shoulders falling and head bowed just long enough to confess the weight of regret. But there was an army in disarray and good men hurt, decisions to be made and justice to be won. So she strode down to the base of Windbluff Tower with her shoulders squared, wearing authority like armor while the Arisen watched in wonder.

“Take the full company, Captain. Wounded or not.” Mercedes stopped Ser Daerio from dividing the soldiers that remained.

“But, Ser!” Daerio immediately objected, “That would leave the Tower unmanned. We cannot leave our Northern defenses abandoned!”

After hearing Julien’s plot to cripple Gransys’ forces the Arisen felt inclined to agree. Even if Voldoa itself planned no attacks, monsters and marauders were quick to encroach on any vacant stronghold and claim control. If the Stone of the North fell to enemies, they’d be on Gran Soren’s doorstep.

“You shall not. I will remain here until replacements can be sent,” Mercedes’ easy answer made it clear she’d already taken all the risks into account, “Let a few of the stronger soldiers run ahead. If Ser Maximilian answers swiftly there will be fresh and loyal troops to take my place by dusk tomorrow.”

“Yes, Ser,” Daerio agreed, a worried frown protesting for him. He barked orders to two men, sending them both racing off with the report. Turning back to Mercedes he braced himself for one more attempt at argument, “There are griffins in the lands beyond, Ser Mercedes, and dragonkin have been sighted. You cannot truly expect to hold the Tower alone.”

“She won’t.” The Arisen cut in before Mercedes could speak. The knight looked over at her, brow lifted in mild surprise. A subtle step brought her closer to Mercedes, squaring beside her in support. She kept her eyes on Ser Daerio, face a mask of dutiful resolve, “I will stay as well. The good knight and I have shared many battles.” _Among other things._ Her eyes flicked to Mercedes, trying not to betray herself with a smirk, “I trust there is nothing we cannot do together.”

That elicited the slightest quirk at the edge of Mercedes’ mouth, a darted glance scolding her for being brash. If not for the man watching them she probably would’ve rolled her eyes. Or perhaps wet her lips. The entire Tower camp empty, save for the two of them. Even Rhiannon had begrudgingly agreed to remain in Gran Soren, trusting that so long as her master was with Ser Mercedes she would come to no harm. No pawns, no soldiers, no interruptions. Despite all the misfortunes shrouding this night, there was an undeniable spark at that thought.

“Very well then, the matter is settled.” Mercedes nodded once, a twinkle of amusement in her gaze hinting she’d read the Arisen’s mind. Looking back to Daerio she raised her brow in that familiar, regal gesture that always turned questions into command, “If there is nothing else?”

“No, Ser.” Ser Daerio snapped off a smart salute and went to lead his charge of men away. Weary and wounded, traitors and faithful, they began the long march back to the capital. Light rain began to fall, blending with the fading footsteps until all that remained was the patter of droplets on stone and canvas.

“You,” Mercedes called for the Arisen’s attention, tone on the knife edge between accusation and affection, “You are becoming very presumptuous.”

“I was entrusted with your safety for this mission. It’s the entire reason I’m here.” She folded her arms stubbornly, ready for the fight. Honestly, she’d been expecting it since the moment she raised her sword against Julien.

“And I was going to suggest you remain with me,” the knight huffed, trying to hide a hint of laughter beneath her breath, “If you had just been patient long enough to let me ask.”

The Arisen stiffened in surprise, dropping her guard and searching Mercedes’ face for any sign of deception. Her steel grey eyes held no secrets, only a radiant warmth that the Arisen found herself drawing towards.

“Ask.” There was more plea than command in her quiet tone, watching Mercedes’ lips curve towards a smile.

“Stay with me tonight, Arisen.” The answer was as unwavering as her gaze, the iron of weapons matched to will.

“That wasn’t a question,” the Arisen teased, lips only a hairbreadth away. 

“It never was.” Mercedes caught her in a sudden, savage grip, claiming her mouth in triumph.

The storm grew heavier, rain pelting over them but neither woman cared. Lost in the ravages of Mercedes’ lips the Arisen couldn’t fight back, couldn’t resist, could only offer a trapped moan of surrender. Metal clanked and scraped between them everywhere that armor kept them apart, frustrating the hands that wanted so desperately to _touch._

All the turmoil and intensity of this night bled into their kiss, fears and failures finding solace in each other. There was comfort in the passion so rapidly growing heated, the familiar hunger of Mercedes’ mouth granting reprieve from any other thought. The lips against hers parted in invitation, welcoming the Arisen to taste deeper, relishing the jagged groan that met her tongue. Sharp teeth and sultry caresses seduced her senses, Mercedes’ brief retreat becoming an assault that sucked the air from her lungs. The Arisen grabbed for any grip, anything to hang onto. Every wicked nip and greedy swipe that ravished her mouth sent blood rushing to the desire pulsing between her thighs.

When neither of them could breathe Mercedes finally relinquished her prize, letting the Arisen pant in her arms and kissing down her neck instead. That cunning mouth scorched her skin, left colored marks that stung and ached in the chilly wind, each one a battle flag claiming victory. The Arisen felt vibrations in her throat, needy sounds trapped behind her teeth when lips found the tender spot near her ear, sending a thrill down her spine. Then an armored hand seized her ass, even through chain and leather squeezing hard enough to make the Arisen buck and moan.

Her body moved on instinct, trying to get closer, seeking pressure and friction for the excitement flooding her veins. Shifting, pressing, cursing the layers that kept them apart.

“Shit!” The Arisen cried out, boot slipping in the slick mud that had pooled around their feet.

For a second Mercedes caught her, keeping them both upright, but then the ground betrayed her as well and they tumbled over. The Arisen grunted when she slammed down and Mercedes landed on top of her, both left shocked and panting. For the space of several breaths they just lay there, trying to right the world in their dizzied senses.

Then a sound broke apart from the beat of the falling rain. Whispery soft at first, then growing, rising, becoming a full and throaty peel of laughter. She searched for Mercedes’ eyes, staring in surprise at the brightness that echoed all the merriment rolling so easily off her tongue. 

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” the Arisen tried to complain but it was impossible not to smile when Mercedes beamed down at her so freely.

“I think I needed that. We both did, no?” The other woman pushed herself up and then lent a hand, pulling the Arisen to her feet as well. Mercedes didn’t let go once they were both standing, rather using the grip to pull her close once more, “Else we might never have thought to go in out of the rain.”

“Scared of getting wet?” The Arisen taunted, allowing herself to be drawn step by step towards the commander’s tent.

“Too late.” A wicked pleasure darkened Mercedes’ eyes, nipping at the Arisen’s lower lip before turning to pull her along. She looked over her shoulder, black irises swirling with visions of naked flesh and trembling cries. “But tonight, Arisen, I want much, _much_ more.”

It wasn’t just the low, sensual threat of her tone that made the Arisen shiver. It was the promise, in her gaze and on her tongue, a vow that she had something unforgettable in mind. Tonight they would leave their mark on each other in a way that would last forever.

ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo000OOO000ooo

Inside the spacious tent Mercedes finally let her armor fall. Not the physical pieces, but the will that had kept her standing tall these past, harrowing hours. The discipline that lent her mask such regal command faded, shoulders dropping under a burden she’d never planned to bear. Yanking her gauntlets off Mercedes ran a hand roughly through her hair, mussing the short strands that stuck to her face. There was a familiarity in the gesture, a frustration that hinted at troublesome thoughts beneath.

The Arisen recognized a woman fighting herself, struggling for words. It was evident in each piece of metal that she impatiently tore off, tossing all the insignia of her status aside with ill-hidden anger. The polished chest-plate, the expensive guards, even that luxurious cloak—everything was stripped with a scorn that verged on disgust.

“I never wanted you to see me like this.” Mercedes wrestled the last bits of ornament free, leaving only the simple, functional fabrics that lay beneath. Brown leggings and a white singlet, damp and clinging to her skin.

“I’ve seen you in a lot less.” The Arisen flashed a rakish smile. Humor was safe right now, with doubt and questions weighing so heavily in the humid air. The frenzied lust that had nearly left them to drown in the downpour outside ebbed and slowed, muted by rising concern.

“But you have never seen me ashamed.” Mercedes shook her head and turned away, gripping the edge of the command table as though she had to fight not to fling it across the tent.

“’Shamed?’” The Arisen repeated in disbelief. She pulled her own bracers off, gently touching Mercedes’s shoulder to coax her back. “Why? Because you couldn’t fight Julien alone? Because I helped?”

The asshole was more than twice Mercedes’ size, and had been in battles perhaps three times as long. The woman had charged her not to interfere in the duel and she’d tried—she’d _truly_ tried—to stay out of it. But hearing the things Julien said! The insults and slurs, the horrible, hateful attacks on everything she was and had fought to be. She’d seen Mercedes’ strength failing and had leapt in without a thought, unleashing all the vengeance boiling in her blood.

“Because I should have asked you from the start.” Mercedes reached up and covered the hand on her shoulder, all the reproach in her eyes turned inward. Her beautiful mouth twisted, contorted with regret, “I needed your help, but I let my ego reign. My foolish pride very nearly cost this battle, might have allowed a traitor to escape free.”

“But he didn’t. We got him, Mercedes.” She brushed a thumb across the knight’s lips, subtly urging that frown to vanish, “It was you that uncovered his plans, your devotion to duty that got us here tonight. Those soldiers owe you their lives because we arrived in time to end this revolt.”

The Arisen could still hear the brutal noise of combat that had greeted them when they raced to the Tower. Clashing weapons and bloody shouts. They would’ve laid waste to every man if Mercedes hadn’t gone straight for the serpent’s head—the leader that had spread poison through their ranks. Thank the Maker she was wise enough to know that losing a duel wasn’t as important as winning the battle.

“I could not have done it without you, Arisen. You have my thanks.” Mercedes caught the hand lingering near her mouth, interlacing their fingers and kissing the tender skin inside her wrist.

“Happy to help.” The Arisen gave a nonchalant shrug, lighthearted tone growing serious, “As long as I’m here, Mercedes, I will always be ready to help you.”

“Then, perhaps, you would be willing to grant me aid just once more?” Mercedes watched her closely, alert for the faintest sign of reluctance.

“Anything,” the Arisen didn’t miss a beat. Sometimes the answers were that easy.

Rather than looking relieved, another line of worry furrowed Mercedes’ brow and she stepped away from the Arisen, distractedly pacing the tent. For several minutes the only sound was the dull drum of rain pelting the canvas tent. The Arisen waited silently, certain that anything that could make Mercedes struggle was too dangerous to rush.

“When we depart this Tower, I will return to Hearthstone. To rally real support for you from the mainland. My father’s kingdom owes more than a ‘token’ to this alliance.” Mercedes spat the word, the insult that Julien had hurled at her as accusation.

“Do you have to go?” Even in her own ears the demand sounded like an abandoned puppy’s whining. She knew the other woman had resolved to go home, to become a stronger and more useful ally. They’d never made any promises or claim on one another, content to enjoy the times that fate allowed their lives to intersect. It still made the hollow beneath her ribs ache, knowing that this could be the last they saw of each other.

“I must,” Mercedes gave a firm nod, softened only by a silent apology in her eyes. There was a forced quality in her voice, the effort of masking emotion behind a plan, “I wield far greater power from Hearthstone’s court than I ever could here.”

“Fucking politics,” the Arisen grumbled, beginning to unstrap her armor just so her hands had something to do. Wet belts and clasps fought back and brought more profanity beneath her breath.

“Precisely.” Mercedes appeared before her, clever fingers skillfully undoing the stubborn straps. Her eyes stayed focused on her work, only occasionally glancing up to meet the Arisen’s curious stare. Clearing her throat, she continued, “The intrigues and tricks of court are a curse I wish to avoid. There are distractions, imagined duties that would mire me in useless debates. Perhaps even stop me from fulfilling my aim.”

“Like what?” The Arisen was trying to follow, but Mercedes had slipped into a language of riddles she couldn’t understand. Her chest piece came undone and she stretched gratefully when it fell free. Her contented sigh was echoed by Mercedes, a sound more akin to irritation.

“When I return to Hearthstone, no matter the import of my mission, all my father and brothers will care about is arranging a marriage.” Mercedes’ lip curled at one edge, repulsed by the very thought.

“What?!” The Arisen completely forgot about the armor she’d been trying to strip, voice climbing higher and louder, “That’s ridiculous! Why would they do that?!”

“Because,” Mercedes’ hands continued where the Arisen had stopped, tugging a little harder than necessary on some clasps, “To my father the bloodline of his heirs is just as important as the legacy they will inherit. He will want to push me into a union with someone _he_ considers of good pedigree.”

The way she twisted that last word! It became something obscene, a disgusted suggestion of breeding dogs and bitches in heat.

“You’re not an animal, Mercedes,” the Arisen growled. Bloodlines. Arranged marriages. It turned her stomach, brought to mind Aelinore’s terrified helplessness when she was shipped off to marry a man she’d never met.

“No, but he has chosen all my brothers’ wives already. I fear they are keen to see me suffer their same fate.” Her eyes rolled and for a moment there was a hint of the past in her face, traces of childhood annoyance and the antics of siblings. “He was already seeking suitors before I left. Noble twits with a long line of titles, or warriors that proved heroic in meaningless battles. I would stop him—.”

“Obviously!” The Arisen exclaimed, too wound up to keep opinions to herself.

“—By offering him something of much greater value,” Mercedes finished as if she’d never been interrupted.

“Like what, treasure? Dragon spoil? A wyvern to keep as pet?!” The Arisen’s fists were already clenching on her dagger pommels, ready to go fight any beast and bring back any trophy so long as it could guarantee Mercedes’ freedom.

The knight smiled in amusement, shaking her head at the gallant—if foolish—offers. She plucked the Arisen’s weapons away, undoing the sheaths and belt and tossing them aside. She stepped back, eyes roving the hero stripped of arms and armor, cataloguing details as if she planned to etch them in marble. Whatever it was that she saw lent a satisfaction to her gaze, confidence to her tone.

“A child of the Arisen. The blood of a true dragon slayer for his family line.” Mercedes waved one hand ceremoniously, revealing the ultimate prize. That sweeping gesture encompassed the whole of the Arisen, head to toe and past to future.

“That might be a problem.” A crease furrowed the Arisen’s brow.

All these new and rapid facts had left her thoughts muddled, trying to catch up and piece everything together. Her mind spun between ‘Arisen’ and ‘child’ and got stuck on the most obvious answer: Quina. She’d told Mercedes about the pregnancy, too excited not to share the news with _someone_. But she’d never imagined the knight would try to take advantage of such a turn. It was as mad as it was impossible.

“It won’t work.” The Arisen licked her lips, preparing to either argue or apologize, “Quina would never agree and I don’t think there’s a force in this life or the next that could pry that babe from her.”

“That isn’t what I had in mind,” Mercedes chuckled at her confusion, taking a deliberate step closer and resting her hands on the Arisen’s waist. “To please my father the heir would have to be of your blood _and_ Hearthstone’s. My child, Arisen. Ours.”

That last word slammed into her mind like a warhammer, shattering all the noise and filling her head with its own echo. Ours. _Ours. Oh, Maker fuck me, she means—!_

“This makes no sense, Mercedes!” The Arisen shook away the sudden thoughts making her body turn traitor. “You would become a mother just to avoid being a wife?”

“To avoid someone unworthy. Someone I do not care for.” Sheer will carved each word on her lips, matched the ferocity of determination in her eyes. Even when her face softened and she rested a hand against the Arisen’s cheek, her breath was a fiery whisper, “Someone I do not love.”

That last word hung in the air between them, unfurling itself into an invisible, undeniable truth. The bond between them had gone unspoken for so long, undefined. They were allies of necessity, lovers when convenient, inevitably friends. The feelings that wound between them were forged from trust and experience, affection grown into something deep and abiding: a loyalty turned into devotion.

“I understand,” the Arisen nodded gently, her own hand mirroring Mercedes’ touch against one cheek. Soaked ebony locks of hair framed her face, outlined the elegant lines that looked impossibly fragile on someone so strong.

Their lips brushed in a soft kiss, light and brief to keep more passionate urges from taking control, letting one moment be sacred. The Arisen leaned back, studying Mercedes for any hesitations, any doubt. The knight was so clearly certain of this choice; she wished she could feel that resolve.

“What about your training? Your duties? You’ve devoted your whole life to being a knight.” The Arisen still remembered that conversation—so many months ago, now—the conviction in Mercedes’ voice and eyes, vowing to cling to everything she’d fought so hard to earn.

“I will still train.” Mercedes’ shoulder rose and fell slightly, the carefree gesture of casting aside a meaningless weight. “And I will have new duties, for my country and yours. I will not be losing my title, simply gaining another.”

That nonchalant shrug again, coupled with the beginnings of a smile. The Arisen could just envision the knight back in her home kingdom: striding through the castle in that signature white cape, beside her a tiny, miniature version of them both tugging on her hand while excitedly shouting, “Ser Mother, Ser Mother!” It made an irresistible grin spread across her face, wondering if their child would be as difficult as everyone said she had been. _Maybe they’ll get Mercedes’ eyes._ Yes, that steel-grey color and the thick, black hair, but with her own easy smile.

A feeling under her ribs lurched, tried to fill a void that couldn’t be touched. As fast as anticipation crept up her spine and made her grow eager, fear fought back with sharp chills.

“Mercedes, at the final battle, if I fail,” the Arisen started to explain, to give her the same warning that sat like a stone in her stomach.

“You won’t.” Mercedes cut her off, swift and firm as a blade slicing down. Her hands holding the Arisen tightened their grip, pouring strength and certainty into every word, “I have seen what you can do. Nothing can stop you. Not the dragon—Maker, I think not even death itself!—could _ever_ stand in your way.”

“I’m just too damn stubborn.” The Arisen ducked her head a little, chuckling. She wanted to believe Mercedes was right. In the glow of that warm embrace, in the absolute faith of her words, she felt it was possible. That anything was possible.

“Yes, you are,” Mercedes agreed, cocking one brow in fond annoyance. She rewarded the Arisen’s smile with a kiss, then another that grew longer, sweeter. After the third she didn’t draw away anymore, lips still touching so that her question was felt more than spoken, “What’s your answer, Arisen? Will you help me?”

Help. How noble a name for such a wholly carnal task! Not simply fucking, but deliberately filling her with seed. It wouldn’t just be a risk or accident this time. Planting life inside another woman would be the goal, the entire bloody purpose. Making a child. _Their_ child. The Arisen bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a sound of something entirely wanton on her tongue. The arousal that nearly overwhelmed them in the rain was blazing in her veins again, slips of fire pooling in her groin, making her swell with primal desires.

“If this is really what you want.” The hoarse reply stuck to the inside of her throat, already growing thick with need. Mercedes’ fingers carded through her hair, finding a new angle for their kiss.

“I do,” she murmured into the Arisen’s mouth. A light puff of air too silent for laughter followed, teasing playfully at her lips, “And I think the idea pleases you as well.”

Mercedes proved her point with a roll of her hips, grinding purposely forward. A heavy jerk answered back, the Arisen grunting at the feel of pressure rubbing against her cock. She glanced down, expecting the familiar bulge but startled by the sight of a full tent straining at her pants.

“Anything that involves touching you _‘pleases’_ me,” the Arisen pointed out, gasp turning into a whine of protest when Mercedes pulled away.

“Oh, yes?” That exotic accent danced in her ear just before Mercedes stepped back. The gorgeous knight shed her last bits of clothing, striding over to the command table and setting herself atop it like a throne. Challenge arched her brow, daring the Arisen to deny her with a seductive purr, “Then come, touch me.”

In three long steps the Arisen covered the distance between them, tunic and trousers shed in a wake of disarray. Mercedes’s thighs weren’t spread wide enough to be lewd invitation. But her legs did part to allow the Arisen close, welcoming her to the luxury of smooth skin and smoldering heat. Perfectly toned arms wrapped around her shoulders, drew her mouth into another sensual exchange of lips and tongue.

They were at the perfectly matched height for Mercedes’ breasts to press against her own, the Arisen reaching up to fill her palms with those rounded swells. She kneaded soft flesh, relishing the way Mercedes’ breath hitched before escaping in a pleased sigh. They molded their bodies together, stiff peaks rubbed against her own pebbling nipples, sparking small surges that roiled and stirred the ache between her thighs. Her thick length was pinned between them, unconsciously rocking back and forth against Mercedes’ chiseled muscles, leaking arousal with every excited twitch.

Skin begging for attention called to the Arisen’s lips, kissing down the column of Mercedes’ throat. The knight moaned and arched back, offering more of herself to be devoured. Long fingers combed into the Arisen’s hair, subtly tugging and twirling, guiding her mouth to the most sensitive spots to claim.

“This,” Mercedes’s lips played over the Arisen’s ear, brushing like a feather between nips of teeth, “This feels very familiar, no?”

An answering chuckle was lost against her neck, the Arisen’s mouth consumed with the taste and feel of a racing pulse against her tongue. Familiar—the tent, the table, the two of them lost in an embrace that was half game, half battle.

“Better,” the Arisen finally pulled her lips away long enough to mumble, hot breath raising gooseflesh on Mercedes’ skin. “This is _so_ much better.”

This time there were no obstacles, no distractions. They could lose themselves completely in each other, the naked warmth and hungry touches that wanted to rush and linger all at once. Mercedes’ thighs tensed beneath her hands in a telltale rhythm, hips beginning to shift impatiently and push for pressure, friction, _more_. The Arisen slid her grip around Mercedes’ back, one hand palming a sculpted ass cheek, the other flaring wide at the small of her spine to pull her even closer. An instant, greedy moan gloried in her effort, svelte legs locking around the Arisen’s waist and dragging her into an even more intimate hold.

Slick, supple flesh enveloped the underside of her cock, Mercedes’ sex pressed tight against her and rolling, grinding into the pleasure of the shaft spreading her folds. Their lips met again, trading kisses and heavy breaths in time with the strokes that smeared lust up and down the Arisen’s length, gasping when her tip bumped against the stiff jewel that made Mercedes tremble. A shift of her feet, a change of angle and the Arisen had her lover in just the right place, cock and clit meeting again and again to escalating shudders and sighs. The arousal pearling from her head mingled with Mercedes’ wetness, coated them both in slippery excitement that made each stroke harder to control.

Mercedes sealed her mouth on the Arisen’s lips, stealing her breath like she needed the air, taking all she could before her feverishly rocking hips began to buck wildly. She came with a low groan, pouring the sound of her ecstasy directly onto the Arisen’s tongue, nectar trickling all around the throbbing cock that twitched jealously against her folds.

Still trembling from the spasms of her peak Mercedes fumbled a hand between them, wrapped her tapered fingers around the Arisen’s length.

“In me,” she panted, licking into her lover’s mouth. “I want to feel you, Arisen. Inside me.” Mercedes guided that pulsing tip to her entrance, her sex blossoming at the barest brush of contact. 

“You’re absolutely sure?” The Arisen’s question was cracked and thin, strained from the effort of holding back.

“Doubt me again,” Mercedes’ voice turned to a rumble of threat, fingers twisting harder in her hair, “And I will pin you to the floor and take what I want for myself!”

“Promise?” The Arisen groaned, eyes rolling back with visions of the stunning knight riding her to absolute ruin for them both.

“Aris- _oh!_ ” Whatever threat Mercedes began shattered to a gasp at the feel of the Arisen pushing into her. Shallow breath became a long, sensuous moan savoring every inch of the thickness spreading her wide.

Past that first, grasping ring of muscle that enveloped her head the Arisen paused, fought to catch her breath, to steel herself to take time and enjoy every minute. The flex of Mercedes’ powerful legs had other ideas, dragging her in with a harsh clench that drove her cock to the hilt in a single, sudden thrust that made them both cry out. The instant flood of sensations threatened to blur her vision, hands digging into Mercedes’ skin to keep her still until they could both adjust.

The slick, velvety muscles embracing her length twitched and tightened, exploring the feel of that thickness taken in so deep. Heat massaged her on all sides, pressed and squeezed in greedy ripples that begged for something more, an answer to the want that had Mercedes squirming impatiently in her grasp.

Mercedes’ legs were a vice around her waist, so strong she could barely move. Hooking an elbow under one knee she forced that grip to open, spreading her lover’s thighs to let her draw back and take her first, luxurious thrust. She could feel Mercedes’ smile against her lips, the pleasured purr that reveled in the Arisen’s cock piercing her depths. 

They both instinctively leaned closer to the table, changing the angle until each slow, heavy stroke bottomed out and made Mercedes’ breath catch. Her arms and legs were fully wrapped around the Arisen, clinging to her, trusting her lover’s strength to hold them both while her body surrendered eagerly to being filled.

“Arisen,” Mercedes rasped against her lips, nipping sharply to catch her attention. Firm hands forced the Arisen to look at her, to see. The steel of her eyes had been swallowed in black, only a silvery eclipse of color left at the rim of lust. Mercedes’ nails scraped a warning down the tender skin of her neck, leaning up to growl, “I will not break, Arisen. _Fuck_ me.”

That visceral command punched into her gut, broke whatever discipline had been making her hold back, making her patient. The next thrust came fast and hard, hips snapping forward selfishly with a force that made Mercedes’ whole body bow. Pride and instinct dragged her into a punishing pace, the sound of slapping flesh filling the tent loud enough to drown out the raging storm outside.

“Yes, just like that, _baise-moi_ , _yes!_ ” Mercedes braced a hand on the table, pouring all her might into meeting every rapid plunge of the shaft all but violating her sex. Her other arm stayed wrapped around the Arisen’s shoulders, grasping on slickened skin, refusing to surrender the closeness that kept their bodies pressed together, coupled almost as one.

_Fuck_ but she should’ve expected as much, should’ve known! The Arisen dug her fingers into the flesh of Mercedes’ ass, glorying in the feel of hard muscle tensing again and again to match her thrusts. They were both warriors, driven, obsessed as much with the fight as the prize. She bit back a groan at the graze of teeth on her neck, sharpness at the perfect edge of pain.

Their child wouldn’t be born of slow romance and intimate seductions. Even in making life there had to be challenge between them, victory and surrender taken in turns like the traded blows of a sparring ring. Mercedes was gasping against her shoulder, clutching at her like a lifeline, ravished curses rising with the savage rock of her hips taking the Arisen for everything she could give. This baby would be born from the battle they both so dearly loved.

Nothing matched the thrill of feeling Mercedes shatter first, fighting and shaking and completely overcome. Her head fell back, cry piercing the air, nails biting crescent wounds into the Arisen’s flesh as every muscle tensed and froze in a rush of bliss. The molten sheath of her core squeezed like an ogre’s grip, quaking and drenched, begged the heavy shaft splitting her insides to give in. Give her everything.

“Mercedes-Maker— _oh fuck!_ ” A sudden spasm wrenched the Arisen’s gut, stole her breath for another curse that escaped only as a fractured cry. The broken noises in her chest burst and faded, over and over as her hips jerked forward, spilling into the quivering muscles of Mercedes’ sex. That silken grip clenched violently to her gushing cock, milking the Arisen for every stream, every trickle of seed that filled her womb.

They collapsed against the table; breath staggering between desperate gulps and choked moans while their joined bodies trembled and writhed with aftershocks. The Arisen panted against Mercedes’ neck, grateful to feel her lover’s breasts heaving against her just as helplessly in the throes of that fading climax. Her cock was still hard, throbbing deep between Mercedes’ thighs like there was nowhere else it belonged. The wild tremors and quakes that had greedily drained her were calming, becoming only a hot, steady pulse that made her feel snug and welcome in those sultry depths.

A lazy press of lips against her temple married with the feel of indolent hands stroking her hair, brushing her cheek. Tender touches lured the Arisen to stir, to rise up and meet Mercedes in a clumsy, affectionate kiss. Limbs found gentler holds on each other, bruising grasps becoming a fond, familiar embrace. Mercedes released her lips without protest, the desire in her eyes flecked with pinpoints of emotion as she gazed up at the Arisen. For her part, the Arisen stared down at the woman resting beneath her, drinking her in, wishing she could memorize every detail.

Mercedes’ hair was damp beneath her fingers when she shakily brushed a few stray pieces away from her face. Either the rain they were caught in or the sweat of their exertions gave her skin an irresistible shine. The Arisen trailed kisses over her cheeks, her lips, her brow; using her mouth to worship in a timeless way that never needed words. She could feel Mercedes’ nectar mixing with her seed, warm and wet all around her nestled length. What might once might have disturbed her as messy—even obscene—felt beyond perfect now; almost holy in the way their excitement mingled, shared in a longing for something greater than themselves.

Enslaved by fate, the Arisen had developed an acute sense for its twists and games. Intuition plucked at her nerves, sent a new and exciting tingle down her spine. She let one hand slide between them, resting on the sculpted muscle of Mercedes’ belly. That significant touch made the knight shudder, breath escaping in a ragged sigh.

“Just once?” Mercedes questioned, searching the Arisen’s face for clues. There was shocked wonder in her voice, a marvel that wouldn’t doubt miracles. But beneath her awe lingered something selfish, a thirst that had yet to be fully sated.

“When has once ever been enough for either of us?” The Arisen’s chuckle stung on her parched lips, curved into a knowing grin. A small jog of her hips added proof, shaft still hard and heavy inside Mercedes’ soaked core. Even that movement made them both shiver, bodies quickly stirring to life in hunger for each other.

An important thought managed to claw through the haze of desires descending on her mind, serious enough to make the Arisen pull away. Mercedes’ sex tightened urgently around her length, legs tensing, clinging with a fierce and naked want that refused to let her go. Soothing eyes and roving hands promised that they weren’t done, the Arisen managing to straighten up without sacrificing a single inch of the silky heat embracing her cock like a glove.

Only one, lone ornament had been between their skin this whole time: a necklace that hung from the Arisen’s throat. It was a simple leather cord holding the tip of a sharp, gnarled claw. The talon was her first trophy, a treasure won in her first victory against dragonkin. The drake she and Mercedes had slain together. Now she unfastened the souvenir that had been her talisman so many months, held it in her hand to let the memory have its honor. The claw was razor sharp after all this time. When she dragged it across the skin on her arm she barely felt the sting that drew blood to ooze free and coat the savage prize.

Only when the talon was drenched crimson did she turn her attention back to Mercedes. The knight hadn’t said a word, only watched her with a confused, worried gaze. Maker, but it was wonderful to lie back down against her skin! To feel the warmth that so readily enfolded her when she rested herself on the knight’s slender, muscled body once more.

“You’ll need proof,” the Arisen explained, voice trapped in the lust and feeling that clogged her throat. She reached around Mercedes’ neck, tying the trophy in place on its new owner. A drop of her blood stained the knight’s skin, more eloquent than anything she could say. “This will stand for me, Mercedes. My blood, my battle, my promise that the child— _your_ child,” she faltered, having to clear the choke of emotion before pushing on, hoarse but resolute, “Is mine. Ours.”

“Ours,” Mercedes repeated, a smile unlike anything she’d ever worn making her face radiant. It was a still there even in their kiss; exultant, glorying and unspeakably grateful.

A newfound rawness stung between their lips, aching with all the confessions and promises that would forever go unsaid. The Arisen filled her desperate hands with this lover she was about to lose, the threat of goodbye making her cling even tighter to the lithe, toned body that answered her every touch with a hungry, thankful moan.

This time, when the Arisen’s hips stirred and began to move, Mercedes didn’t take control. The knight lay content against the hard table supporting them both, legs hooked around the Arisen’s waist to keep her close, not seeking command. They kissed, wet and ardent between the softly building gasps that punctuated deliberate thrusts. The war table creaked beneath a slow, heavy rhythm that steadily overwhelmed them both, mouths parting more and more often for the need of panting breath and broken sighs.

Hands found each other, the Arisen lacing her fingers with Mercedes’ and pressing both against the hard wood in a grip both tender and unbreakable. Such a simple touch, but so intimate it made the knight quiver. Flushed lips parted over a ravishing moan that was more than the cock piercing her sex, more than the arousal trickling between both their thighs and filling the air with the heady scent of flesh and excitement. Another stroke hit Mercedes’ deepest places and her head fell back, throat arching to cry beautifully at the heavens.

“ _Maker_ , Arisen,” the knight gasped, groaning, writhing beneath the body that tortured her inch by inch closer to that devastating perfection she craved.

“I’ve got you, Mercedes,” the Arisen murmured, voice nothing but a graveled longing clawing up her throat. “I have you,” she repeated, scattering kisses over Mercedes’ parted lips, her throat, the cleft between her breasts, the taste of skin and salt rasping on her tongue. “So beautiful, so strong. _Fuck_ , Mercedes, I’m in a goddess when I fuck you.”

“ _Yes, Ah-_ Arisen, _fuck me!_ ” Mercedes echoed her words, hands and legs and sex all clenching urgently to her lover; all the decadent thrills of their coupled bodies spiraling to new heights.

“Did that,” the Arisen hummed smugly, kissing all over Mercedes’ breasts, catching a nipple to lick and tease until the knight beneath her cursed and shuddered even more violently. “I _fucked_ you, Mercedes,” she grinned at the feel of her lover’s savage quake, exulting in the heady knowledge that this moment, this pleasure, was hers to give. “I filled you once, planted my seed to grow. Going to do it again,” she grunted, speeding the thrust of her hips. “ _Holy Maker_ , you’re going to be so gorgeous, growing round with our child. I want- _fuck!_ -how I want to see you full from me, swollen and heavy—!”

A tortured groan severed her words, broke her thoughts from forming. She buried her face between Mercedes’ breasts, hips a piston pounding greedily into the sodden warmth that had already taken her before, consumed with nothing but the thought of filling this exquisite woman again. How much could her lover take? How much could she pour into that empty womb before she was overflowing with lust and seed and the beginnings of new life?

“ _Yes,_ Arisen, _prenez-moi,_ ” Mercedes groaned, head tossed back, bucking to meet those desperate plunges that sank deeper than she’d ever been touched. “ _Je te veux,_ I want _—Oh, putain de-Maker,_ I fucking _want—!_ ”

That final cry was a rapturous, shattering relief, Mercedes arching off the table and gripping hard enough on the Arisen’s hands to nearly crack bone. In the climax of soaked, velvety muscles squeezing and rippling around every inch of her tortured length the frenzy in her veins became too much. Fire cascaded through every fiber and sinew, surged into her core only to burst free, erupting from base to tip in thick streams that scorched and flooded Mercedes’ still quavering depths.

“ _Fuck_ , _Mercedes . . ._ Maker, _fuck,_ ” the Arisen panted, words tumbling from her lips without permission. She’d abandoned any pretense of holding herself up, collapsed limp and shuddering against her lover. The lingering, selfish jerks of her hips stole what was left of her strength, left her spent, weak and helpless in Mercedes’ comforting arms.

The knight cradled her close, fingers playing in her hair and caressing down her spine in long strokes that explored her body back and forth and again. Her sated cock finally slid out of drenched flesh, a hint that perhaps it was time to pull back. The strong legs around the Arisen’s hips refused to let her break free, Mercedes finding her eyes in a gaze that let wanton appetites fade to tender affection.

“I’m going to miss you.” The Arisen heard words on her tongue before she’d even realized the thought.

“I’ll miss you too.” Mercedes leaned up just enough to catch a gentle kiss. No demand, no threat or challenge. This was the comfort of touching hands more than crossing blades. Resting skin to skin and sharing breath.

“Will you do me a favor?” The Arisen fought with doubts in her chest, the questions that choked her voice with confusion and uncertainty.

“Anything.” Mercedes nodded, echoing her own earlier reply.

_Fuck,_ but when she said it like that! Lying so contentedly on the table as if she could offer the answer as easily as she gave herself! The Arisen shook away that thought, clearing her throat and mind to focus on what mattered.

“If I don’t come back—,” she started.

“You will.” Mercedes refused to tolerate even the notion of any other outcome. The fierce glint in her eyes would’ve made recruits soil their breeches.

“ _IF_ I don’t,” the Arisen repeated, harder and louder than before. “If killing the dragon takes everything, even my life—which it _might_ ,” she waited to see the argument in Mercedes’s glare subtly fade. She wouldn’t fail, but victory could cost a higher price than anyone expected. Which was why she took the knight’s fingers in her hand and kissed the knuckles, begging her to understand, “Please promise me one thing, in case I don’t return?”

“What?” Mercedes’s rumbling tone hated the answer, hated this whole conversation. But she was willing to tolerate it, if only for the plea she could see in the Arisen’s gaze.

“Take care of Quina for me. There’s no one else to look out for her.” A hollow ache twisted beneath the Arisen’s ribs, wishing she could change the past or the future. 

Her childhood friend had happily pretended to need no one else, to be content in the delights of their playful affection and familiar bond. They had spent years enjoying carefree pleasures, an intimacy as comforting as it was easy. No questions, no demands, no promises beyond a present filled with warm friendship and sinful games. But Quina needed— _deserved_ —someone at her side night and day. A lover that would be devoted to nothing but her, romancing her with the reverence that was her Maker given due. Mercedes might not be that person, but she was the only one the Arisen trusted to protect and care for Quina until someone better came along.

“I will,” Mercedes assented, bringing their interwoven fingers to her mouth for a determined kiss. If this was all she could do for the Arisen, the woman she had grown to respect and want and love? Then she would give her all to fulfilling that promise like it was her own life in peril. Worse, her own heart. 

“Thank you,” the Arisen sighed softly against her mouth, sharing all the relief and gratitude she felt in another kiss.

They lay pressed against the table, oblivious to passing time as their bodies reveled in the feel of mingling warmth and sated sighs. Arms and hands lazily roamed over familiar curves and contours, exploring hard muscle and sensitive skin. Like magic, some force drew the Arisen’s touch back to Mercedes’s belly, resting below her navel as if she could feel the spark of life taking hold.

“Regrets?” Mercedes teased, her own fingers covering the Arisen’s on her chiseled stomach. How long would it take before the hard lines of perfectly defined muscle that she so loved to trace began to vanish?

“Only that I won’t get to watch.” The Arisen shook her head, massaging small circles over the taut flesh that would week by week begin to stretch, to swell with the life growing inside.

To think that in a few months she would be filling out with the evidence of their passion, her body rounding and ripe from the seed of this bond they shared. She could envision Mercedes standing proud and indomitable in a training yard, sword in one hand while the other rested on the fullness of her pregnant belly. It made her warm all over but still shiver.

She wanted—wanted with such a shattering, deadly force—to see her babe grow in Mercedes, _with_ Mercedes. Just like her chest ached to see Quina become full, supple and heavy with the fruit of their coupled passion; one day cradling a newborn to her breast. These past weeks she’d tried so hard not to think about it. Not to let herself dwell on Quina’s happy revelation, because every time her thoughts drifted back to that memory a surge of emotion unlike anything she’d ever known threatened to twist her inside out. But lying with Mercedes now, faced with another lover and future child, she let the feelings win.

Maybe it was the dragon’s curse, a base and selfish instinct forged into her flesh that took such absolute, shameless relish in knowing they were _hers_. That both these indescribably perfect women had chosen her, taken a piece of her—wanted it for themselves so that part of her would stay with them, forever. It was like having her heart taken all over again, but this time without any pain.

“I never thought about having children.” The Arisen barely recognized the sound of her own words, jagged with raw, foreign emotions.

“Technically, you won’t,” Mercedes pointed out, a twitch of her brow amused by such a glaring oversight.

“You know what I mean.” A mildly annoyed huff shot back. She continued absently stroking smooth skin, as if she could comfort someone who hadn’t even been born. Someone she’d probably never once touch. A deep breath masked the shakiness of her sigh, “Family was always something for other people. A choice. A responsibility I’d never have to worry about.”

“I see,” Mercedes nodded slowly, reading her eyes for more than was being said. She didn’t correct the Arisen, didn’t remind her that in many ways nothing had changed. Because something had. Her voice was hoarse from brutal use, but Mercedes still managed to sound gentle when she asked, “And now?” 

“Now,” the Arisen repeated, burying her face against Mercedes’ breasts for a long sigh before lifting to face her once more, absolute steel in the conviction of her tone, “I may have to thank that bloody monster before I rip my heart back out of his fucking corpse.”

A rich roll of laughter rewarded her determined vow. Mercedes’ dulcet, throaty sound warmed her whole body like a caress, drew her closer to a kiss.

“Maker save me, I think you truly will.” Mercedes’s gaze glittered fondly, brushing her lips before favoring her with a smile, “And now there are two more reasons for you to succeed.”

“Three,” the Arisen corrected without thinking, too late to catch the word before it escaped.

“Three?” If Mercedes was surprised it was for barely a second. The Arisen was already cursing herself, hating the feel of a blush climbing hotly up her face. Damn that arched brow and the way it seemed to read her mind! An all too cunning glint sparkled in Mercedes’ eyes, the pleasure of secrets purring in her tone, “But, of course. The lovely Duchess, no?”

“Ye-no-I mean—,” she groaned, dropping her head back against Mercedes’ chest in defeat. “I don’t know. Probably?”

_I hope._ Memories of the long afternoon and night she’d spent in Aelinore’s chamber deepened the crimson hue on cheeks. They’d talked about it. When the sun finally crept up the next morning and forced them to look at the new shape and meaning of a world redefined in each other. They both knew that the dreamy haze of confessed love and shared passion couldn’t hold off reality forever. Outside the tower was the life they still had to face; a husband, a dragon, a curse and the consequences of every choice.

“You don’t sound convinced.” Mercedes combed her fingers absently through the Arisen’s hair, toying with the tousled strands and tickling her ear.

“I left it up to her.” Her tongue stuck thickly on that answer, dredging up a memory she’d just as soon forget.

Giving Aelinore that bottle, the one that the scrivener down at the Black Cat had sold to her with such a repulsive leer! The blonde had been unnervingly calm about the whole thing, offering the Arisen all the reassurances that she was pretty sure _she_ was supposed to be saying. They traded endless variations of the same promises: to think carefully, that nothing would change, that they loved— _Maker_ how they loved each other. After a dozen more kisses and excuses to linger, the Arisen finally forced herself to leave. Their last shared embrace at the doorway left Aelinore’s brilliant blue eyes etched into her memory. A mysterious flash in that ocean of colors hinted that she’d already made her choice.

“Interesting that you haven’t asked me to look after her as well, should the worst happen.” Mercedes lured the Arisen back from troublesome thoughts and gnawing questions; her exotic voice teasing like the fingers grazing over skin.

“Because if I die I’ll come back and haunt that castle to look out for her myself,” the Arisen explained matter-of-factly. She’d thought it through several times. Bargain with whatever deities or demons necessary, take shape in the physical world as a being of pure emotion and will, scare the shit out of the Duke night and day until he drops dead of a heart attack. Feste too. Simple, really.

“I daresay if anyone can, it’s you.” Mercedes stroked a finger beneath the Arisen’s jaw, lifting her chin to look up.

Her thumb traced the edge of a cheekbone, a slow touch that wanted to memorize every line and facet. Like the gaze that flicked over her face, the fingers still mapping skin and scars. Emotion clouded the grey of her eyes, darkened like thunderheads with bursts of lightning. Talking of the future, of other lovers, of plans and death and whatever came after; Mercedes was never one to be sentimental but a feeling of loss was growing heavy in the air around them, making the silence oppressive. 

A dragon brought them together. A dragon might make them forever be apart. And a dragon granted them the chance to pour their memories, their experiences and affections into a new form that would grow and blossom into a life forged from pieces of them both.

“All that matters?” The Arisen propped up on her elbows, tilting her own eyebrow to mimic the regal challenge Mercedes so often used on her. A smirk curled one corner of her lips, made her voice low and wicked with new games, “Is that I’m not dead yet. And we still have all night.”

The weight of unsaid words in Mercedes’ eyes faded, electrified with fresh and sinful delight. She dragged the Arisen down to a kiss, humming with pleasure at the mouth that met her desire perfectly and answered with a moan. She caught a lower lip between her teeth, just hard enough to make her lover surrender the first shivering gasp like a battle prize.

“All of tonight and until dusk tomorrow.” Mercedes’ smile had the threat of fangs and greed, a promise of danger that sent another helpless shudder down the Arisen’s spine. That powerful body beneath her tensed all at once, surging up off the table and forcing her to the floor in a single move that would’ve bested any enemy. Probably even Julian, if he’d ever been lucky enough to be so close.

Dizzy from the sudden twist of her world the Arisen stared up at Mercedes, noting the predatory curve of her lips, the unmistakable pride in her eyes. She pinned her like prey, breath quickening with the heat rising so rapidly between their pressed skin. Her voice was a fiery whisper in the Arisen’s ear, tracing the edge with her tongue,

“I believe I threatened to do this earlier.” The nip of her teeth left no doubt. A stuttered curse trembled past the Arisen’s lips with a groan. There would be no battle this time, no fighting back. Mercedes straightened up, straddling her waist with an aura of absolute command. All the Arisen could do was lay back and pray for mercy. Because this time Mercedes had control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope reading this chapter is as fun as it was to write! Some of the emotion and angst was difficult to slog through, but the pairing is still one of my favorites. Please let me know thoughts and opinions. Feedback has been really helpful through this project!


	11. A Parting Gift - I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this and the next chapter were going to be one. But when I saw how long this first half alone is, I decided to break it into two. Shorter than the past few marathon length chapters, but hopefully still satisfying.

**A Parting Gift - I**

“Then, just when he’s really getting fired up for his big, ranting speech—Bam!” The Arisen smashed one fist into her palm, startling a number of the more innocent bystanders. She didn’t care, continuing with relish, “The dragon’s claw came down and squashed him like a bug. No more zealot, no more Salvation.”

She probably shouldn’t have enjoyed that story quite so much, what with the squishing and all. Particularly when she noticed how many nuns were giving her scolding glances and making little tutting noises amongst themselves. None of that mattered though, not when Quina covered her mouth to control a burst of laughter. Her eyes were every bit as delighted as the Arisen had felt when she saw such an ironic justice rain down from above.

“It would seem you and the dragon have more in common than you thought, Cos.” Quina squeezed a hand on her arm briefly. The Arisen had almost forgotten that particular touch, a habit Quina had developed in childhood whenever her friend came back from reckless adventures with stories to tell. It was a subtle way of making sure that this hero of hers was still safe, still whole.

“A lack of patience for religious fanatics and their speeches?” The Arisen hazarded a guess, happy to say anything so long as it meant Quina kept smiling, kept their fingers interlaced, kept walking so lazily through the Abbey courtyard oblivious to any and every other person around.

“I was thinking more of your flair for the dramatic,” Quina smirked, poking one finger deliberately into the Arisen’s unprotected ribs. A yelp of laughter set off another disapproving susurrus amongst the nuns, Quina giggling at her response even after the offending hand was seized. Naked merriment shone in her eyes, dancing up at the Arisen when she leaned closer so they could be quiet, “And your gift for perfect timing. I feared you wouldn’t return before I had to go.”

“I couldn’t let you leave for the mainland without seeing you one more time.” The Arisen gentled her hold on Quina’s hand, pausing to face her fully. _One last time._ The wrong words had nearly shaped on her tongue, tightened in her chest. She couldn’t bear to let Quina see her doubts now. Not when there was so much at stake.

“If you didn’t come before tomorrow, I’m not sure I could have left.” Her eyes had the look of stormy tides again, the foreboding greys and greens that lapped at Cassardis’ shores whenever dark weather rolled in. So much feeling churned in those colors; wishes and worries, sadness and strength. Despite it all, there was a resolute calm more powerful than any hints of regret. She had made up her mind, and the Arisen had learned long ago that nothing stopped Quina once her heart was set.

“See then? Good thing I’m here.” The Arisen gave a playful wink, putting a little more swagger in her step as they resumed the leisurely evening stroll.

In fact, it was practically a miracle she’d made it in time. If not for Mother Clarus sending word that she needed aid in assembling a farewell gift, the Arisen might not have known of Quina’s acceptance to the Grand Cathedral until she was already gone. It was still difficult to accept that the brunette was going there. Maker, was she really going to become a nun? That couldn’t actually be possible . . . Not with. . . Could it?

She stole a sidelong glance at the other woman, as she’d been surreptitiously doing every few minutes since the moment she arrived. The stupid, heavy robes that adorned all servants of the Faith kept too many secrets. Every once in a while, if she looked at exactly the right second then the fabric would flow differently, catch just right on a swell that would normally be hidden. A shape that hadn’t been there before. Each time the Arisen saw that teasing hint she fought the desire to touch, to yank off that damned frock so she could really see, could finally know the ways Quina’s body had changed. Five months since the dragon. What did five months look like? What did it look like on _her_?

“It must be hard for you.” A lilt edged with a breath of laughter forced her back to her senses. Quina was watching her with a quirked eyebrow, fighting to keep a smirk from curving her lips. _Shit_. Caught.

“What?” The Arisen blinked, not sure if she’d heard correctly.

Hoping she hadn’t, really. Because, yes, dammit, _it_ was very dangerously close to getting hard. Seeing Quina again after all this time but not being able to hold and kiss her, to feel her the way she so painfully wanted! Her body had been a torture all bloody day. From the moment she woke up knowing she would get to see her lover again to now, at war to keep her thoughts from wandering into visions of mapping new curves with both hands.

“I said this must be difficult for you,” Quina repeated, the mischief in her tone promising she knew exactly what she had said before, and where the Arisen’s mind had gone. From wicked to innocent in the flutter of her thick lashes, wiping away anything but fond concern, “You have already had to say too many farewells.”

“I’ll see them again.” The Arisen forced her voice to stay even, sound strong. The same way she poured every drop of brazen confidence into her eyes with a bright grin, “Same as I’ll see you once the battle is done.”

Quina easily saw past that façade, neither of them even pretending not to know. Still, she stayed silent and offered only a gentle nod of reply, giving the Arisen permission to let out her bravado in a relieved sigh. The healer had listened willingly to her stories of Mercedes and Aelinore, held her hand a little tighter when the Arisen described having to say goodbye. She heard the emotion in her friend’s voice without judgment, saddened by her pain.

Seeing Mercedes leave for Hearthstone had been difficult enough, but when she realized Aelinore could only be safe by going back home . . .

_The secret passage below the Duke’s Blighted Manse was riddled with rotting wood and gaping bridges. The Arisen carried Aelin in her arms over each peril, telling herself it was to keep her safe. Even if some of the gaps were barely a foot across. Even when she never put the blonde back down._

_Aelin was shockingly light, worn from captivity and fear. Yet her grip around the Arisen’s neck was unbreakable, fierce as the brightness that hadn’t left her eyes since the second her savior stepped into the cell. The cell they barely made it back out of—Aelin dragging her into a kiss so passionate that within moments they were sinking towards the bed without any thought of guards or escape. Maker, if the Duke’s men hadn’t been making their rounds just then to check the prisoner!_

_“Ahead there, Master, that ladder will lead us to the exit above,” Rhia called from behind._

_She and two other pawns had met up with the Arisen and Aelinore in the sewers, guarding them all the way through the decaying, bandit infested underground. Because no matter the arrows or spells that hurtled towards her, the Arisen had refused to let the rescued woman out of her arms. Now there was solid stone beneath her feet again, old and worn, but free from peril. And looming ahead she could see a barred door on the level above. An exit back to daylight. To where Mirabelle would be waiting for her mistress. Ready to take her back home._

_“Time to let you go,” the Arisen murmured so that only Aelin could hear, reluctantly loosening her grip._

_“No!” Aelinore suddenly tightened her hold, knuckles turning white and staring up at her love with beseeching eyes. Surprise stopped the Arisen short, halfway down the final passage to freedom. Aelin’s face was distraught, filled with a dozen protests and pleas. Quieter this time, she repeated, “No. Not yet. . . Please.”_

_“Rhiannon,” the Arisen called to her pawn, not taking her eyes away from that anguished gaze._

_“Yes, Arisen,” Rhia answered instantly, knowing the command before it was even spoken. She turned sharply on her heels, snapping her fingers at the other two pawns, “Back this way. I saw some store rooms with crates we can smas—uhm—that is, we may find ought to sell.”_

Maker, bless that woman. _The Arisen chuckled under her breath, wondering how she ever would’ve survived without the clever pawn at her side. Then she felt Aelinore’s staggered breath buried against her neck and all thoughts of Rhia were quickly replaced with worry; the petite blonde’s muscles were tensed to the point of trembling._

_“Aelin? Aelin, tell me what’s wrong.” She shifted the woman in her arms, trying to pull away enough to see._

_“I can’t.” Aelinore’s voice was a cracking whisper. She finally looked up, letting the Arisen see the shine of barely held tears in her eyes. “I can’t lose you. I can’t bear to think I might not—we might never—,”_

_Before those breaking words could shatter completely, the Arisen silenced her in a kiss. Heartfelt as the sadness rising in her chest, echoed in the tender desperation of Aelin’s lips. Each caress held question and promise; sighs traded again and again in a language of regrets and desires, emotion pouring back and forth between them until she couldn’t tell their longing apart._

_“You won’t, Aelin,” the Arisen breathed shakily, quelling her own doubts to sound certain, “You won’t lose me, I swear.”_

_“My sweet warrior,” Aelin’s voice wavered, trying so hard to be brave, “Don’t make vows you can’t keep.”_

_Vows. The word resonated in her mind, recalled a weighty gift that she’d convinced herself was too dangerous to use. Too selfish to even consider. Until now. It took more kisses and patient coaxing but Aelinore finally consented to be put down, standing on her own feet but still clinging to the Arisen as if one of them would vanish the moment she let go. With so many odd trinkets and trophies filling her belt pouch it should’ve been harder to find one small item. But, almost as soon as she began to search, her fingers found what she wanted like it had been waiting all along._

_In the shadows of the ancient stone passage the ring in her hand glowed with its own pulsing, mystic light. It was hypnotic, holding them both so transfixed that—for a few breaths—the heavy sorrow surrounding them was forgotten._

_“What an exquisite ring.” Aelinore stared at it in wonder, brow slightly furrowed to divine the strangeness of something so beautiful._

_“It’s the Arisen’s bond. My oath given form.” Her mouth felt dry uttering the words, as solemn on her tongue as they had been when she first heard them. “It’s the symbol of an oath that will bind me to what I hold most dear.”_

_The timeless magical token always took the form of what mattered most to each Arisen. Perhaps for one a crown, for another an unbreakable weapon or some priceless gem. For her? Tortured by worry for those she loved and might lose forever? For her it became a ring. Not trusting herself to say more the Arisen took Aelin’s hand and placed the ring in her palm, closing it in her fingers tightly. An awed silence followed, Aelinore slowly opening her fist to regard the gift with naked wonder._

_“And I’m . . .This is,” she swallowed back a thick swell of emotion, looking up at the Arisen with a breathless hope ready to shatter, “Is this for me?”_

_“What I hold most dear, Aelin,” the Arisen repeated with a nod, basking in Aelinore’s sudden smile, radiant as the sun and warming her through. “My oath to be bound to you. Forever. If you want it. Me.”_

_“Forever. Forever and after!” Aelin threw both arms around her neck, taking her in another kiss of pure joy and fire._

_It took the Arisen’s breath away, how completely she could be overwhelmed by this delicate woman’s passion. The ravishing persuasions of her mouth were so completely different from that first, inexperienced and forbidden kiss they’d shared. Aelinore’s mouth was insatiable, like her lips had been made for nothing but this. With choked whimpers and greedy moans she took and gave; confessed, yielded, and claimed her love completely._

_The sudden wall against her back shocked the Arisen, too lost in their embrace to realize she’d been moving, step by step losing ground. Her startled gasp in their kiss made Aelinore groan, slipping past her lips to seek another perfect sound._

_“Aelin. Aelin!” Maker, but it felt like her tongue didn’t even belong in her own mouth anymore, felt wrong and empty all alone. Lack of air and blooming arousal was making her mind sluggish, thoughts and words dragging slow. Through the haze a single, urgent demand forced its way between their kiss, “Aelinore, put the ring on.”_

_At first she’d swear the other woman didn’t hear, or was deliberately choosing to ignore her demand. Then Aelin’s mouth let her go, drawing back breathless. The blue eyes that found hers were clouded with swirling lust, only a flash of confusion piercing their depths. Light dawned with a flicker of surprise, her warmed cheeks heating further in a blush. One arm unwrapped from the Arisen’s neck, white-knuckled fist unfurling to reveal the treasure glowing softly in her palm._

_“’Tis truly a thing of beauty,” Aelinore murmured, reverence and adoration mingling in her tone. Her eyes drifted to the jewel that already occupied her wedding finger, beautiful lips curling in disgust, “I much prefer it to the bauble I received from the duke.”_

_With a savage twist she pulled her marriage ring off, tossing it away to bounce and clatter off stone and get lost in ancient grime. The Arisen’s Bond slid on to take its place, for moment seeming too large for that slender hand. The pulsing light of the ring flared brighter, making their eyes water because both were too stubborn, too entranced to look away. When the brilliance faded the ring was a perfect fit, settling on Aelinore’s finger like it had always belonged. The long tunnel swallowed any sound when the Arisen’s gloves dropped to stone, taking Aelinore’s hand warmly in her own._

_“You’re bound to me now, Aelin, and I am to you.” The band was cold against her lips when the Arisen sealed it with a kiss._

_Seeing that ring on her beloved’s finger, feeling it between their interwoven hands; a surge of emotion that was almost pain swelled beneath her ribs, pride and surrender and conquest all in one._ The one you vouchsafe this ring to will be bound to you. _The words of the Dragonforged slid around in her head, echoing promises that could mean either hope or doom._ Bound to you most powerfully.

_Aelinore’s hand slid under her chin, turning her attention back to meet a determined gaze._

_“You’ve given me your oath.” Aelin held her ringed finger up between them, tapping it deliberately with her thumb. “It will never leave me, never be broken. You’ve promised I will see you again, no matter what fate awaits us. Do not break that vow.”_

_Every word was forged of pure iron, the last sentence a law that would see heaven fall before being denied. How such a graceful woman could contain the nearly violent power of that decree! The Arisen didn’t doubt her bones would rise from the grave itself if it were that voice issuing the command._

_“We’ll be together again, Aelin,” the Arisen repeated, kissing her beloved again and again. She seared the words with her lips, over jaw and cheeks, brow and chin; she made the promise a brand left on skin. Coming back to Aelinore’s waiting mouth there was as much determination as surrender in her sigh, “I will be with you.”_

_“Be with me,” Aelinore echoed, drinking in the assurance of their kiss. “With me, my warrior.” The devotion of her lips became more insistent, mantra becoming demand. Feverish desires escaped on a shaking breath, “Be with me **now**.”_

_A needy tug at the Arisen’s belt described in detail exactly what she meant. Emotion boiled over rapidly into lust, a plume of heat instantly rising in the Arisen’s blood. Aelinore released her lips, hungry to explore down her throat instead, panting and making quiet threats against the armor that blocked her pawing hands._

_“Ael-Ah, Maker!” The Arisen’s voice hitched at the feel of her leathers getting jerked open and Aelinore’s soft fingers brushing her cock. Even she couldn’t open her own breeches that fast! Air stuck in her lungs or escaped all at once, stuttering with every deliberate caress making her rapidly swell._ Shit. _“Shit, Aelin. Aelin, we can’t! The others—!”_

_A strangled note cracked her protest. Others. She wasn’t even sure if she meant the pawns somewhere in these tunnels or the escort waiting out in daylight. Aelinore’s grasp wrapping around her length was making it impossible to remember. The Arisen was trapped; between the passage wall and Aelin’s pressing body, the fingers playing masterfully up and down her shaft, caught in wants spiraling out of control._

_“Please, my love, I need to be with you,” Aelin coaxed with her lips and throaty whispers and slowly stroking hand. “It could be weeks, months before I can have your touch, your hands, your warmth. I want to remember, my warrior. I want to think of you every night, the feel of you with me. **In** me.”_

_Fuuuuuuck. A mangled obscenity escaped the Arisen in her tortured moan, instant reflexes catching hold of Aelinore and flipping their position with a sudden twist. A startled noise squeaked out of the smaller woman, drowned out by a long and wanton groan when the Arisen’s lips scorched greedily up her neck._

_“You think you could forget?” The hot, rasping demand against her ear made Aelin quiver, melting completely into her lover’s embrace. Fabric bunched in the Arisen’s hands, impatiently pulling up the layers that kept her from bare skin. Her face was buried in Aelinore’s rampant hair, nipping at her jaw, tracing the edge of her ear, planting open-mouthed kisses down the side of her throat and back up again,_

_“You think being apart is going to erase the memory of my fingers? My lips?” She could feel Aelin shiver in her arms with each low, dangerous rumble that rolled like gravel on her tongue. “Has it already been too long? Did you forget how I took you? Claimed every inch of your body over and over until dawn?”_

_“Mmmm, Maker yes,” Aelinore’s thready sigh turned into a whimper, the Arisen’s hands finally touching her naked, swollen center. Those soft folds were full and smoldering, lust instantly coating the first fingers that parted her open._

_“You remember how wet you were? The sounds when I slid between your thighs?” The Arisen clenched her jaw, swallowing back her own choke of excitement at the feel of warm arousal already trickling down her hand. Fuck, but she was a flood. It made her ache with the glory of it, knowing it was her that made Aelinore so excited, her that the gorgeous woman wanted so badly she couldn’t hold still. It made her cock stand higher, strain harder in her lover’s grasp._

_Memories snapped around the Arisen’s mind like leaves in the wind, blending past and present. The feel of willowy legs spreading, soaked velvet flesh blossoming for her touch, the heavenly note that rose in Aelinore’s chest and climbed free like a song when she sank into her that first time._

_“I remember.” Aelin’s head fell back against the wall, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut when two fingers finally pushed into her waiting sex. Heat flowed and rippled all around the Arisen’s invading touch, clenching and begging in want. Her hand on the Arisen’s shaft was still moving, gliding up and down in time with the delicious pleasure stroking her from within. A heavy twitch in her grip made the blonde smile, lips offering a sound of pure sin, “I remember how good you felt. Maker, my love, just your fingers and I wanted to die.”_

Just like now. _The Arisen could see her pulse quickening, her breath already become shallow and fast. They’d barely touched and she was near to coming undone. Sparks and fire licking up her spine from Aelin’s hand on her cock promised she was faring no better. It took all her discipline not to rut into those elegant fingers, the ones getting slick with the excitement leaking from her tip._

_A sudden need, the sharp urge to feel Aelinore fall apart seized her, started a race to bring those sweet sounds and tremors past the edge of bliss before the unbearable pressure in her base burst free. The flutter of silky muscles clung to her fingers, tried to keep her in, take her even deeper with the tilt of her hips. One of Aelin’s legs hooked over her waist, offering herself, demanding everything the Arisen could give._

_“You looked so gorgeous, writhing in the sheets, pleading until I thought I’d break from the want to be in you.” The Arisen sped her fingers, dragged her thumb through soft folds to find the stiff bud begging for attention._

_“Please,” Aelin’s voice strained not to crack into a sob, “Please, I want to feel you, all of you.”_

_“Soon,” the Arisen consoled her with an open kiss. With clever, curling swipes her tongue echoed the fingers ravishing Aelinore’s core, the touches pushing her lover to the brink._

_She could taste Aelin’s moans, feel them in her chest before they ever reached her lips. Her clit twitched and pulsed beneath the Arisen’s circling thumb, grinding forward for more pressure, more of the delicious shocks making her quake. Angling to hit her lover’s front wall tore a keen from Aelinore’s throat, broken into short, jagged gasps when she thrust to the same spot again and again._

_“Maker, don’t stop!” Aelinore wrapped an arm tight around the Arisen’s neck, her whole squirming body starting to tense. “Yes, ah-Maker Above-Yes!”_

_The climax crashed into her violently, arching off the wall and flooding hot nectar from her depths. Aelin was beyond beautiful in her moment of perfection. The Arisen watched, enraptured, as her lover became a portrait of ecstasy. The way her head tipped back, tossed hair caught on flushed and parted lips, breasts heaving against the tight prison of her dress. It etched itself into her memory, carved so deep it could have touched bone._

_With Aelinore trembling in the throes of bliss the Arisen quickly fumbled for her cock, prying herself from the grasp too overwhelmed to hold on. Fuck, but she was throbbing so hard it felt like she’d explode in her own hand. The drenched muscles of Aelin’s core were still shuddering when the Arisen pulled her fingers out. Even in the aftershocks she whined protest, too soon to feel empty. That parched whimper caught when the Arisen gripped beneath her thigh, became a sigh of anticipation when she felt herself lifted higher._

_“You always remember the first person that touches you, Aelin,”the Arisen whispered into her open lips, positioning the tip of her cock in soaked folds. Aelinore’s hips rocked instinctively, wrapping her legs and arms completely around her love. She was still breathless, finding the Arisen’s mouth for a clumsy kiss, drinking in her promise, “You never forget the first time you make love.”_

_Because that was truly what they’d done. Nothing from that night, no matter how loud or passionate or rough, had ever been fucking. She had loved Aelinore with every inch of her body and fiber of her soul. And she loved that Aelin wanted her to do it again. Wanted to have her, no matter what was happening in the world around them, overcome only with the longing to be as close as possible. For even a little while, to be one._

_“Love, yes. My love, my lovely,” Aelinore purred, the fading delirium playing games on her twisting tongue._

_Only when her eyes fluttered open, black with desire but shining, only then did the Arisen let her hips press forward and begin sinking her cock into sodden, welcoming heat. Neither could bear to look away, locked in a mesmerizing gaze that refused to yield a single moment of this: being reunited in the deepest, most ancient way. The Arisen held those cerulean eyes, watched and felt every inch of her length splitting that sultry canal, until she’d swear she wasn’t just plunging into Aelinore’s body but falling into her soul._

_It wasn’t until her hips met flesh, sheathed to the hilt in that silken core, that they let their eyes fall shut to steady ragged breaths, to prepare. Heavy pulses raged through her cock, already vengeful from being denied so long. Aelinore’s wicked need to touch played absolute hell with her self-control. Even now the blonde’s greedy fingers were making seductive demands, grasping at her armor, stroking her neck, carding through her hair; tempting the Arisen’s body past her power to hold still._

_Underneath burdensome layers of fabric were the full curves of Aelinore’s ass, round and soft in the Arisen’s palms. Perfect handholds as she began to thrust; in and out of glorious, grasping muscles in a rhythm as sensual and timeless as breakers at sea. Aelin’s face rested against her cheek, panting between the throaty keens that followed every stroke. Rolling hips met the Arisen each time she sank in, partners in this primal, erotic dance._

_She hoped—Maker, she prayed—that this wouldn’t be their last memory together. Not with Aelin pinned between chafing stone and hard armor, clothed and rushed. Not when everything before had been feather pillows and naked skin, the twin luxuries of privacy and time. This was still special. It had to be. Because if this really was the end . . ._

_“Could never forget you,” the Arisen forced a handful of words past the stifled grunts filling her chest. Need and emotion clogged her throat and she hated it, fought with it, choked and cursed until it broke and let her voice tear free,_

_“ Never—fuck, Aelin._ ” _Now she could speak everything started pouring out, a deluge that wouldn’t stop_. _Nonsense and truth twined and gasped out of her, answering Aelinore’s every moan._ _“First time I saw you, so perfect, like your flowers._ ” _Not just beautiful or delicate, but natural, like she’d been made of the elements, woven by the Maker himself out of breezes and fire and Spring,_

 _“Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Never have . . . Never will.”_ _Control strained, cracked, shattered and she was thrusting urgently, entire body consumed with the blinding need to be overcome._ _The stony passage filled with a carnal symphony of slapping flesh, spilling wetness and torn, breathless cries._

_“Don’t stop! More. Oh-Maker, my warrior, give me more,”Aelinore’s helpless groan shuddered in her ear, begging her with fiery kisses and pleas. More want. More words. More love._

_“You’re in my memories, Aelin. My fantasies. Even my prayers. Maker save me, you’re everywhere.” Absolutely everywhere. On her, around her, in her every sense. The scent of her skin and heat, the swelling cries filling the air, the slippery feel of her nectar on the Arisen’s fingers, smearing her thighs and clinging to her cock._

_A fierce quake tightened the muscles around her length, grabbed hold of her with a savage, rippling need that wouldn’t surrender a single inch. Pleasure snapped Aelinore’s body into a bow, arching off the wall with an anguished, exultant shout._ Maker-yes! Yes- _ohyesFUCK! A final, tortured curse ripped from the Arisen’s tongue and she buried herself as far as her cock could reach, liquid fire tearing through her veins and erupting from her tip in hot streams. Quivering inner walls clamped down on her like a vise, milking her shaft for every burst of release like a due._

_The cascade of surges wracking her body seemed to go on forever, muscles burning from exhaustion but hips still grinding up, still thrusting to fill Aelinore’s flooded sex. Spots were swirling at the edges of her eyes, threatening to steal color and make everything black before the crescendo finally began to fade. The shaking in her legs wasn’t just warning but a threat that brought the Arisen to her knees, instinctively cradling Aelinore close the whole way down. She sagged forward, spent and boneless, mind a jumble of confused questions and amazed obscenities._

_Maybe it was because she’d spent so much energy on the rescue. Maybe it was because she’d forced herself to resist Aelin’s touch. Maybe her body just knew they didn’t have much time and decided to pour everything she had into that singular, epic peak. Not that saving time would be much use if she couldn’t stand the hell back up!_

_Aelinore shuddered when the fullness in her core subsided, the Arisen’s length softening with truly uncharacteristic cooperation. But they weren’t ready to come apart just yet. Blonde hair tickled her cheek and nose, Aelin resting on her shoulder while the feel of her pulse gradually slowed. Time crept on, measured by Aelinore’s thudding heartbeat between them; that was the only sound besides their breath until the Arisen felt strong enough to stir._

_She leaned back, Aelinore’s arms relaxing just enough to let her pull away but only so far. Which was fine with the Arisen; she only wanted to be able to see the woman in her arms. All the dark and smoldering desires that had clouded her eyes were vanished, leaving the brilliant crystal blue to shine in naked adoration. Her skin was flushed, lips colored near to bruising from kisses. The gold of her hair made a darker frame around her face, damp from exertions; the rest of the wavy locks were tossed and disheveled, a loud confession of twisting fingers and hungry touch. She looked like a piece of forbidden artwork, the perfect portrait of ravished and ravishing. It filled the Arisen with a single, definite thought:_

_“Mirabelle is going to kill me.” The chuckle stung on her lips, but felt wonderful. One of Aelinore’s eyebrows quirked up in a moment of confusion, but then her eyes swept over the Arisen’s own features. There was an undeniable gleam of pride in that gaze, Aelin smiling and combing some of the more ravaged locks away from the Arisen’s face._

_“She will understand.” A carefree, lilting sigh brushed her lips just before a kiss._

_Aelin’s hand on the her cheek was warm save for a single sliver of chill. The ring. It was the first thing the Arisen saw when she turned to investigate the cold against her skin. There was something sacred in the feel of it against her lips in a kiss, a reverence when she laced their hands together and studied its brightness. The magical glow cast its spell over both their skin, looking more perfect than ever between them. Aelinore followed her attention, a smile both proud and shy savoring the sight of the promise they chose to share._

_“My shield or undoing,” the Arisen murmured words that felt like a lifetime ago._

_“Your what?”Aelin’s head tilted to one side, curious._

_“A warning about this ring, and the person to whom I’d give it.” She touched the band, spun it gently on Aelinore’s finger, “I was told this bond would either be my shield or my undoing.”_

_“So, which do you think I’ll be?” A thread of challenge danced with the laughter in her tone, flashed in her eyes as she dared the Arisen to predict the unknown._

_“You, Aelin?” The Arisen smiled, no answer ever more certain, “You are going to be both.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original outline called for an entire chapter devoted to the "Duchess in Distress" rescue quest. Then, in my impatience I scrapped that idea and figured I could encompass the important bits in a flashback. Then the flashback developed a mind of its own . . . Oh well.
> 
> I greatly appreciate those of you who've been commenting and keeping me excited about this story. All thoughts, opinions, questions and critiques are always warmly welcomed!


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